fl 


STORIES  IN  SONG 


AND 


/ 

OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


WILLIAM     GRANT      BROOKS. 


INTRODUCTION  BY 

Rev.  Thomas  H.  Stacy,  Pastor  of  the  Cutts  Avenue  Free  Baptist  Church 
Saco,  Maine,  and  Author  of  "  In  the  Path  of  Light  Around  the  World." 


Biographical  Sketch  by  Philip  C.  Tapley. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


LHWISTON,   MAINE: 

THE    HASWKI.L    I'RKSS,    Pl'BIJSHKRS, 

IQOO. 


Kntered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year   1900  by 

WILLIAM  GRANT  BROOKS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


AUTHOR'S  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 


STORIHS  IN   SONG 

AM)     OTIIKR     1'OKMS. 


DEDICATION. 


IN     MEMORY    OK    MY     MOTIIKK, 

MRS.     HARRIET    C.     BROOKS. 

Passed  away   Aug.  20,  1896, 
Aged  64  years.   3  months,   28  days. 


"  I  shall  never  know  another. 

Like  ni}-  dear  and  sainted  mother  ; 
She  was  faithful  to  her  family,   to  her  neighbors,  to  her  God  ! 

Her  long  life  was  freely  given, 

For  our  welfare  she  had  striven. 
She  has  earned  the  Christian's  heritage — she  has  gone  to  her  reward. 


PREFACE. 

1 1  a  hook  do  not  apologize  for  itself,  it   is  in  vain   lor  the  author 
to  attempt  it  hy  a  preface. 


12 


INTRODUCTION. 

Walton  in  his  "Complete  Angler"  says:  "Angling  is  somewhat 
like  poetry,  men  are  born  so."  We  may  say  that  this  is  from  the 
standpoint  of  an  enthusiastic  angler,  but  we  find  that  Bailey  says: 

••  Poetry  is  in  itself  a  thing  of  God ; 
He  made  His  prophets  poets;  and  the  more 
We  feel  of  poesie  do  we  become 
Like  God  in  love  and  power, — under-makers." 

As  to  the  origin  of  poetry  the  angler  and  the  poet  agree;  and 
without  doubt  they  have  spoken  the  truth. 

Poetry  is  a  thing  of  God,  and  the  poetic  genius  is  a  gift;  it  stirs 
the  best  in  our  hearts,  because  the  best  has  brought  it  forth  ;  it 
stimulates  to  lofty  deeds  because  it  springs  from  lofty  conceptions. 

Poetry  better  than  prose  reveals  the  writer.  Imagine  if  you  will 
the  muse  stirring  the  embers  of  thought  and  feeling,  directing  the 
pen,  but  conception  and  expression  are  ever  moulded  and  colored  by 
the  writer's  characteristics. 

In  poetry  as  in  painting  methods  of  expression  differ  widely. 
Schools  of  poetry  like  schools  of  philosophy  have  gathered  about 
those  whose  productions  have  made  them  eminent.  Pope,  Dryden's 
pupil,  had  many  copyists.  The  Wordsworth  school  is  still  in  exist 
ence,  Longfellow's  style  and  method  have  many  imitators,  and  we 
might  mention  many  more  of  whom  this  is  true.  Shakespeare  and 
Milton  have  had  their  imitators,  but  perhaps  they  have  hardly  been 
at  the  head  of  a  school,  for  the  reason  that  they  have  stood  alone, 
inimitable,  the  one  in  dramatic  and  the  other  in  epic  poetry. 

Perhaps  nothing  is  more  essential  in  poetry  than  pure  and  lofty 
conceptions,  expressed  in  simple  and  luminous  style.  Bryant  speaks 
of  two  wrong  tendencies  on  the  part  of  seekers  after  poetic  fame;  he 
says:  "  One  of  these  is  the  desire  to  extort  admiration  by  striking 
novelties  of  expression."  In  such  cases  the  struggle  and  strain  to 
carry  out  this  purpose  is  apparent  and  the  true  genius  of  song  is 
strangled.  The  other  tendency  is:  "The  ambition  to  distinguish 
themselves  by  subleties  of  thought  remote  from  the  common  apprehen 
sion.  Obscurity  is  unpoetic;  while  poetry  brings  to  the  surface  mind 
gems,  it  is  limpid,  light  and  luminous.  It  seems  to  us  that  Bryant 
might  have  spoken  of  another  wrong  tendency,  namely,  simply 


Introduction.  '3 

rhyming.  In  much  that  goes  for  poetry  the  chief  end  seems  to  be  to 
make  words  rhyme.  No  doubt  the  makers  of  such  verse  have  found 
with  Fielding  that  "  Rhymes  are  difficult  things— they  are  stubborn 
things  sir."  But  there  is  poetry,  beautiful,  inspiring  poetry  that 
does  not  rhyme  at  all,  and  in  which  there  is  no  attempt  at  rhyming. 
Metre  is  far  more  essential  than  rhyme  and  yet  Emerson  says:  "  It 
is  not  metres,  but  a  metre-making  argument  that  makes  a  poem." 

"  The  elements  of  poetry  lie  in  natural  objects,  in  the  vicissitudes 
of  human  life,  in  the  emotions  of  the  human  heart,  and  the  relations 
of  man  to  man,"  says  Bryant.  If  he  is  right — and  he  was  a  censor— 
"  vStories  in  Song  and  Other  Poems  "  will  be  of  interest  to  the  general 
reading  public,  for  these  characteristics  inhere  in  them  ;  the  thought 
is  largely  concerning  every  day  experiences,  the  language,  plain  and 
unmistakable  ;  with  no  attempt  at  striking  novelties,  the  frank  and 
honest  thought,  betray  a  frank  and  honest  heart. 

For  two  reasons  this  collection  will  be  of  interest  to  the  people 
of  Saco  and  Biddeford.  First,  because  the  author  was  born  and  has 
always  resided  in  the  former  city.  Having  won  the  confidence  and 
respect  of  his  fellow  citizens,  they  have  a  just  pride  in  his  musical 
and  literary  achievements.  Second,  because  many  of  the  scenes  and 
events  set  forth  are  based  upon  local  facts  which  have  existed  in  the 
past,  or  do  exist  at  the  present  time. 

Many  will  be  greatly  interested  in  Personal  Poems.  Poems  on 
Temperance  and  Patriotisim,  all  will  appreciate  the  tender  tributes 
to  "  Mother  "  but  it  appears  to  us  that  Bill  and  Joe's  Reunion,  The 
Fallen  Oak,  Warned  Out,  To  a  faded  Flower  and  Except  in  August 
are  among  the  most  attractive  in  the  collection.  May  "  Stories  in 
Song  and  other  Poems  "  go  forth  to  instruct,  inspire  and  comfort. 

THOMAS    H.  STACY. 


AUTHOR'S     BIOGRAPHY. 

William  (/rant  Brooks  was  born  February  26,  1869,  at  Saco, 
Maine,  in  humble  circumstances  and  obtained  a  limited  education  in 
the  public  schools  of  his  native  place.  Most  of  his  education  he  was 
destined  to  obtain  by  contact  with  the  world  for  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  school  at  the  age  of  thirteen  to  earn  his  own  livelihood  and 
help  support  the  family. 

At  a  very  early  age  he  manifested  a  remarkable  aptitude  for 
music  and  at  the  age  of  twelve  years  could  play  in  a  creditable  man 
ner  upon  numerous  instruments,  never  having  had  the  assistance  of 
a  teacher  during  this  time.  At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  purchased  an 
organ  and  began  the  study  of  music  in  earnest,  bat  owing  to  limited 
means,  could  take  only  a  few  lessons  and  after  a  time  was  forced  to 
give  up  his  teacher  and  pursue  his  way  alone,  which  he  has  ever 
since  done  with  notable  ability  and  success. 

In  iSXS,  Mr.  Brooks  composed  a  temperance  song  entitled  "The 
Drunkard's  Child's  Farewell  "  which  was  published  by  Oliver  Ditson 
Co.,  of  Boston.  The  popularity  and  success  of  this  work,  encouraged 
the  author  to  try  again  and  since  that  date  he  has  composed  many 
works  which  have  become  known  and  given  him  a  reputation  far  be 
yond  the  borders  of  his  native  State. 

Among  his  instrumental  pieces  are  "Department  Commander 
Burbank's  Grand  March,"  "  Governor  Henry  B.  Cleaves'  Grand 
March,"  "The  Cavalrymen's  Raid,"  dedicated,  by  permission, 
to  Major  General  John  M.  Schofield,  Commander-in-Chief  of  the 
U.  S.  A.,  "Governor  Burleigh's  Reception  March,"  which  is 
considered  by  critics  one  of  the  very  best  Marches  written  in  recent 
years  and  "The  Dirigo  State  (Two  Step)  March,"  which  was  per 
formed  by  Sousa's  Grand  Concert  Band  in  Saco  City  Hall,  April  28th, 
1897,  the  occasion  being  graced  with  the  presence  of  that  distinguish 
ed  vSoldier  and  Statesman,  Major  General  Joshua  L.  Chamberlain, 
Ex-Governor  of  Maine,  to  whom  the  March  was  dedicated  and 
Mrs.  Chamberlain. 

Although  Mr.  Brooks  is  best  known  to  the  world  at  present, 
through  his  musical  compositions,  within  the  last  few  years  he  has 


j^  Author's    Biography. 

begun  to  attract  attention  as  a  poet  and  gives  promise    of    a    brilliant 
future  in  this  line. 

His  poem,  entitled  "The  Tramp  Musician"  is  universally 
know  and  justly  celebrated,  being  pronounced  by  critics  a  very  finely 
written  poem.  He/ekiah  Butterworth,  in  a  personal  letter  to  the 
author  said  of  it,  "  This  has  merit.  The  story  is  admirable  and  some 
of  the  lines  are  dramatic  and  admirably  written ."  From  the  public  at 
large  he  has  received  many  testimonials  of  praise  in  regard  to  it. 
His  poem,  "  The  World's  Ready  Helpers,"  has  recently  been  pub 
lished  in  China  in  the  Chinese  language. 

In  addition  to  the  works  named  in  this  sketch,  he  has  written 
many  others  both  musical  and  poetical,  also  a  few  prose  works. 

In  person,  Mr.  Brooks  is  tall,  erect  and  of  such  a  generally 
striking  physique  that  he  would  attract  attention  among  hundreds. 
His  character  is  of  the  best,  the  result  of  the  training  of  a  Christian 
mother,  to  whose  influence  he  attributes  in  a  large  measure  his  success. 
He  is  a  prominent  member  of  the  Grand  Lodge  of  Maine  Good 
Templars,  and  has  never  tasted  liquor  nor  tobacco  in  any  form.  He- 
is  also  a  member  of  Mavoshen  Lodge.  No.  i,  K.  of  P.,  of  Biclde- 
ford,  Maine,  the  Royal  Arcanum  Sons  of  Temperance,  and  several 
other  secret  orders. 

The  late  General  Neal  Dow  of  Portland,  Maine,  was  a  warm  per 
sonal  friend  of  Mr.  Brooks,  and  between  the  two  there  existed  a  tie  of 
sympathy  and  regard  for  each  other  that  remained  unbroken  until 
the  General's  death,  which  occured  at  Portland,  Oct.  and,  1X97. 

With  a  kind  and  sympathetic  nature  and  a  genial  disposition. 
Mr.  Brooks  makes  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  companions  and  scores  of 
his  fellow  townemen  and  others  are  glad  to  number  him  among 
their  friends. 

PHILIP  C.   TAPLKY. 


CONTENTS. 


Dedication         ..........        8 

Preface.        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .11 

Introduction      .               .               .               .               .               .               .               .               .  .12 

Author's  Biography              ....  15 

Contents             .               .               .               .               .               .               .               .               .  17 

Illustrations              .........  19 

STORIKS  IX   SOXG. 

Beacon  and  the  Hell.  The         .              .              .              .              .              .              .  24 

Hill  ami  foe's  Reunion.      ........  30 

Hero  of  the  Sea.  A                     .              .              .              .              .              .              .  •     42 

Lafayette's  Visit    to  Saco                 .......  26 

Moonlight  on  the   Saco  River              .              .              .              .              .              .  -34 

Tramp  Musician.  The         ........  21 

RELIGIOUS   POKMS. 

Gateway,  The                 .              .              .               .              .              .              .              .  .61 

Life's  Twilight  and  Close                .                             .....  ^7 

Looking  beyond  the  Sunset    .             .             .             .             .             .             .  -55 

Mother's  Dying  Prayer      ........  ^2 

Opportunities    of   Life              .              .              .              .              .              .              .  •      S4 

Peaceful  Rest           .....                             ...  60 

Power  of  a   Sony.   The            .              .              .              .              .              .              .  48 

PATRIOTIC    POKMS. 

Banner  of  Peace.  The         ....                             .              .              .  6> 

King  of  Our  L  iiion.  The          .              .              .              .              .              .              .  67 

Memorial    Day,    1893          ....  .64 

Nation's  Treasure.  The            .....                             .  .     69 

PERSONAL   POKMS. 

General  Neal  Dow.  To       .....                             .  74 

George  Washington    .              .              .              .              .              .              .              .  -77 

In  Memoriam          ......  So 

John  Greenleal"  Whittier,  To              .             .             .             .             .             .  -73 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,   To         ......  72 

Washington  and    DON               ...  78 


i8 

TEMPERANCE    POEMS. 

Ben  Murch  on  the  Keelev  Cure    .......  90 

Don't  be  afraid  to  sav  "Yes"'             .              .              .              .              .              .  .86 

Driving  the  Fatal  Nails     ......  -93 

Mother's  Favorite  Hvinn         .              .              .              .              .              .              .  87 

Stain  upon  Our  Flag,  The             .......  84 

Temperance  Ship  Sails  on,  The         .              .              .              .              .              .  .82 

Temperance  Folks  Resolve.  The              ......  94 

Word  to  the  Boys,  A                 .              .                                         .  .     85 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Androscoggin's  Stone  Profile,  The         ......  153 

Artist-Season,  The    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .167 

Autumn  Rain,  An  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .120 

Beacon  of  Wood  Isle,  The     ...  .  .      141 

Bell  of  Lexington,  The  .....  .174 

Birthdav  Greeting,  A  .          .  .  .  .  .  .  .114 

Bridge  Above  the  Falls,  The       .  .  127 

Chapel  in  the  Vale,  The       .....  .  .      162 

Charity      ........  .  138 

Elegy  Written  on  Laurel  Hill  ...  .  .      in 

Except  in  August  ........  133 

Farewell  Winter        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .104 

Fallen  Oak,  The.  .  .  .  105 

Glad  Days  of  Spring  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  145 

Hope's  Sweet  Song          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .124 

Jim's  Order     ........  .      130 

Lessons  from  Nature       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .116 

Lessons  from  a  Life  ........      169 

Lines  to  a  Faded  Flower  .  .  ....  123 

Little  Hunchback,  The         .  .  .      if>o 

Man's  Answer,  A  .......  125 

Man  Can  be  Honest  Though  Poor,   A          ...  .      144 

Mountains,  The    ....  .  135 

Mother  .......  .      .133 

My  Old  Mountain  Home  .....  .119 

Never  Wish  Your  Time  Away          .  ...  .117 

Old  Ambrose          .....  .  .96 

Pauper,  The  .........      155 

Push  Will  Win      .  .  123 

September  Ramble,  A  ......  .      101 

Summer  Among  the  Hills  .......  165 

Under  the  Chase  Elms  ......  .      159 

Warned  out.  .......  108 

When  the  Year  is  Old  .  .      148 

Where  Mother  is  'tis  "Home  Sweet  Home"      ...  .  136 

World's  Ready  Helpers.  The  .  .  .  173 


19 
ILLUSTRATIONS 


Author's  Father  and  Mother              .              .               .....  S 

Author's  Portrait               ........  10 

Birthplace  of  William  Grant  Brooks  .  .  .  .  .  .14 

Saco  River  bv  Moonlight  (As  seen  from  Grav's  Hill.  Saco.  Me.)      .              .  35 
Biddeford  Heights  hv  Moonlight      .              .              .              .              .               .               -39 

Mills  and  Lower  Main  Street  Bridge  (Between  Biddeford  and  Saco)              .  41 
Captain  John  F.  Tavlor          .              .              .              .              .              .              ,              .4^ 

Pepperell  Park.  Saco.  Me.  58 
Group  Picture:  Park,  Lakelet.  A  Passing  Train.  Pile  of  Rocks  and  Windmill. 

The  Water-Tower        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .58 

General  Neal  Dow             .....                             •              •  75 

Author's  Stud\            .........  100 

A  Country  Road  Scene                  .......  101 

-•  The  Fallen  Oak"  .  .  106 
Group  Picture  :  Old  High  School  Building,  Miss  Lix/.ie  E,.  Gowdv,  The  Oak 

Tree.   Stump  of  the  "  Old  Oak  "       ......  106 

View  in  Laurel  Hill  Cemetery  (Main  Ayenue)              .              .              .  no 

Mrs.  Olive  Toward                  .                             ......  113 

Cataract  Bridge                  ........  129 

A  Mountain  Sketch                  ......'..  135 

Wood  Island  Lighthouse               .......  140 

Wood  I.sland                 ......                             .              .  143 

The  Androscoggin  Stone  Profile  (  Lewiston.  Me.)       ....  152 

Under  the  Chase  Kims           ........  158 

Rev.  T.  Arthur  Frev           .              .              .               .              .              .              .            .  170 

Old  Belfry  at  Lexington,  Mass.  ...  ...  175 


THE   TRAMP   MUSICIAN. 

\()TK. — Tlie  household  goods  of  a  ruined  millionaire  \vere  being  sold  at  auction 
and  a  fashionable  assembly  of  bidders  were  present.  The  auctioneer  came 
to  a  handsome  grand  square  piano,  and.  as  he  opened  it,  he  observed  that 
the  makers'  catalogue  price  for  the  instrument  was  fourteen  hundred  dol 
lars.  Then  he  invited  anv  one  present  to  trv  the  instrument,  so  that  all 
present  might  hear  its  tone. 

"  Xo\v,  here's  a  strand  piano! 
Its  action   is  complete  ; 
Xo  blemish  mars  its  polished  case. 
Its  tone   is  pure  and  sweet. 
Before  I  sell  the  instrument 
Will  someone  volunteer 
To  try  it,  so  all  present 
Its  silvery  voice  ma}-  hear? 

"  Come,  try  it,"  said  the  auctioneer  ; 

"  I'll  wait  a  moment  more." 

At  this  second  invitation 

There's  a  stir  out  by  the  door. 

And  then  a  man  advances. 

vSee  his  pale  and  haggard  face  ! 

Amid  that  grand  assembly 

He  seems  strangely  out  of  place. 

Upon  his  thin,  worn  features 

Dissapation's  seal  is  se!.. 

And  a  hungry,  wild  expression 

Is  seen  in  his  eyes  of  jet. 

His  clothes  are  soiled  and  ragged. 

His  hair  uncombed  and  long  : 

Vet  on  lie  goes — unmindful 

Of  the  rich  and  well-dressed  throng. 

Straight  up  to  the  piano — 

He  seemed  a  spectre  from  the  tomb — 

A  murmur  of  astonishment 

Is  heard  around  the  room  : 


22  The    Tramp   Musician. 

At  last,  the  whole  assembly. 
With  taunting  jeer  and  shout, 
Rush  forward,  madly  crying  : 
"  Let's  put  the  vagrant  out  ! 

He  hesitates  one  moment. 
Then  his  fingers  touch  the  keys ; 
A  few  soft  notes,  whose  power  sets 
The  maddened  throng  at  ease. 
Then  a  sudden  burst  of  melody. 
And  the  throng  spoke  not  a  word, 
Heetlioven'  s grandest  music 
Thrilled  the  souls  of  all  icho  heard . 

The  piano  was  almost  speaking. 

And  a  voice  from  heaven  above 

Seemed  talking,  through  its  trembling  strings, 

And  telling  earth  of  love  : 

The  lofty  strains  are  ended, 

But  the  music  does  not  cease  ; 

For  melody  follows  melody. 

Like  a  river  of  endless  peace. 

Listen  !   he  is  improvising  ! 

The  throng  with  wonder  look. 

As  tones  full  of  joy  and  sunshine 

Flow  on  like  a  laughing  brook  : 

Breathlessly  they  listen 

To  each  melodious  strain, 

Now  like  the  warble  of  singing  birds, 

Now  like  the  pattering  rain. 

The  sunlight  seems  to  disappear. 
And  night  envelopes  day  : 
As  slowly,  a  touch  of  sadness 
Creeps  into  the  melody. 
The  hearts  of  the  throng  are  melted. 
Their  eyes  are  filled  with  tears, 
And  the  past  that  looms  before  them 
vSeems  a  life  of  wasted  years. 

And  now  comes  the  sweetest,  saddest. 


The    Tramp  Musician. 

Grandest  song  'neath  heaven's  dome: 

The  air  seems  sweeter  than  ever  ; 

'Tis  the  melody,  "I fame  Su'cet  Home." 

vSlo\ver  and  softer  the  music, 

Like  the  wind  through  treetops  sighing. 

Till  the  faintest  murmur  lingers. 

As  a  soul  that's  sinking — dying. 

Now  the  music  ceases  ; 

The  last  note  dies  away. 

And  falling  across  the  keyboard, 

All  motionless  he  lay  ; 

The  auctioneer  touched  his  shoulder. 

Hut  the  vagabond's  life  was  done  ; 

With  the  dying  notes  of  "  Home  Siceet  Home," 

His  immortal  life  beoun. 


24  The  lieacon   and  the  /><•//. 


THE  BEACON  AND  THE  BELL. 

T'was  midnight  on  the  lonely  sea. 

Great  storm-clouds  decked  the  threatening  sky 

While  up  and  down  the  rocky  coast, 

The  milk-white  spray  rose  high. 

The  vivid  lightnings  flashed  and  played. 
Peal  upon  peal,  the  thunders  rolled  ; 
And  over  all  the  mighty  deep. 
The  icy  winds  blew  cold. 

A  ship,  with  canvas  hung  in  shreds, — 
Torn  by  the  hurricane's  rude  blast  ;— 
Was  struggling  onward  through  the  gloom, 
With  broken  spar  and  mast. 

The  tired  seamen,  sought  to  hear 
The  bell-buoy,  ringing  o'er  the  main  ; 
And  many  times  they  ceased  their  toil, 
To  listen — but  in  vain. 

Although  its  ponderous  brazen  tongue. 
Rang  out.  that  night,  with  lusty  will  : 
Its  tones  were  lost  amid  the  storm. 
Whose  roar  was  louder  still. 

Alas  !   the  ship  ran  on  the  rocks  ! 
Her  crew,  so  noble,  strong  and  brave. 
Sank  helpless,  'neath  the  scathing  loam 
Into  an  ocean  grave  ! 

Ah  !   had  a  beacon  light  stood  there. 
Upon  those  rocks,  in  that  dread  hour  ; 
The  sailors  might  have  seen  the  rays. 
Flash  from  its  turret  tower. 


Tlie   Heacon   and  the   /it'll. 

For.  though  the  angry  teni])est's  roar, 
All  through  that  dark  and  dreary  night  : 
Could  drown  the  clanging  of  the  bell. 
//  ne'  er  could  hide  the  light .' 

And,  aided  by  its  steady  flame. 
The  ship  with  safety,  might  have  passed 
Far  out  beyond  the  dangerous  reef  : 
And  gain  the  port  at  last. 


Oft-times  we  meet  with  needy  souls 
\Yho,  drifting  on  life's  troubled  wave 
Are  like  the  struggling  mariner, 
With  none  to  help  or  save. 


And  many  —  knou'ing  of  their  a'ir>t/s, 
Along  the  shore  will  idly  stand  : 
And,  like  the  bell-buoy  —  make  a  noise. 
But  gii'e  no  he/ping  hand  ! 

Then  there  are  those  unselfish  ones. 
Who  go  about  from  day  to  day  : 
Who,  by  their  kindly  acts  and  deeds, 
Illumine  life's  dark  way. 

And,  as  the  beacon's  steady  rays, 
Bring  cheer  to  sailors  hearts  at  night  ; 
So  these,  with  pleasant  word  and  smile, 
Make  all  our  burdens  light. 

In  aiding  weary,  care-worn  hearts, 
We  give  joy  to  ourselves  as  well  : 
So,  on  life's  shore,  better  to  be 
A  beacon,  than  a  bell  ! 


26  Lafayette's    I'isif  to  Saco. 


LAFAYETTE'S  VISIT   TO  SACO.    1825. 

[As  told  hv  an  old  man  to   his  (i  rumlchildren .  ) 

I've  a  story  lor  you  children — listen  then — come 

close  to  me  : 

T'is  no  quaint  old  Indian  Legend,  nor  a  dark  tale 
of  the  sea. 

Xor  is  it  of  some  strange  Monarch  who  a 

ruler's  scepter  sways  : 

But  a  great  event,  that  happened  in  old  Saco's 
earl}-  days. 

From  a  Tyrant's  grasp  our  Country  years  bef ore- 
had  won  release  : 

\Ve  had  gained  our  Independence  and  the  bright 
Angel  of  Peace, 

Hovered  o'er  a  happy  people — o'er  a  Nation 

henceforth  free  : — 
Kver  with  increasing  brightness  shines  her 

Star  of  Destiny- 
In  the  great  struggle  for  Freedom   from  Oppression's 

heavy   hand  : 

One  there  was  who  came  to  aid  us  from  a 
distant  foreign  land. 

History  tells  his  noble  record — of  great  battles 

fought  and  won  ; 

How  he  gained  undying  laurels,  by  the  side 
of  Washington. 

Kver  through  the  coming  ages,  till  the  sun 

no  more  shall  set ; 

Fame  will  crown  with  deathless  glory  the 
great  name  of  Lafayette  ! 


27 


Yes,  'tis  of  this  Patriot,  children,  that  my  story 

lias  to  do  ; 

And  ho\v  Saco  once  received  him,  I  shall  now 
relate  to  you. 

T'was  a  June  day,  bright  and  lovely,  in  the 

year  of  '25  ;  — 

Since  then  how  the  years  have  faded  —  and 
but  few  are  now  alive  ; 

Of  the  throng  of  loyal  people,  gathered  on 

that  summer  day 

To  do  honor  to  the  hero  —  nearly  all  have 
passed   away. 

Saco  then  was  not  the  city,  that  your  youthful 

eyes  behold  : 

Customs  at  that  time  prevailing,  now  would  seem 
both  strange  and  old. 

Scores  of  shady  streets,  where  many  of  our 

finest  dwellings  stand  ; 

In  the  days  of  which  I'm  speaking  were  but 
woods  and  pasture  land. 

The  old  bridge  that  spanned  the  river,  stood 

then  just  below  the  Falls; 

And  the  highway  leading  to  it,  even  now  my 
mind   recalls. 

Both  the  town  and  highways,  over  which  the 

people  went  and  came  ; 

All  are  changed  —  there's  scarce  a  feature,  that 
today  appears  the  same. 

The  whole  Nation's  growth  and  progress,  has  been 

wonderful  since  then  ; 

Railroads  were  as  yet  unthought  of.  in  the  wildest 
dreams  of  men. 

All  the  marvels  of  invention,  that  today  we  call 

our  own  ; 

Which  to  our  eyes  seem  so  common,  were  in  early 
davs  unknown. 


2S  Lafa  vcttc* s    I'isif  to  Saco.      1^25. 

We  had  then  no  bands  of  music,  neither  did  t he- 
sound  of  bells 

Greet  the  Patriot,  as  he  entered  from  beyond  the- 
Plains  of  Wells. 

But  they  gave  him  such  a  welcome — worthy  of  a 

Prince  or  King  ; 

They  extended  every  honor  that  a  loving  heart 
could  bring. 

In  fond  niem'ry.  ah,  how  often  I  live  o'er  that 

happy  scene  ; 

When  the  school  children  assembled,  there,  upon 
the  Village  Green. 

And  the  great  warm  hearted  soldier  took  each  little 

hand  in  his 
Speaking  tender  words  of  greeting — icords  recalled  in 

after  vcars. 

Children,  I  was  of  that  number —  as  he  held  me 

by  the  hand  : 
In  my  boyish  fancy,  never  seemed  a  soul  more 

truly  grand. 

Such  a  noble  manly  bearing  ;   such  a  kind  and 

winning  way  ; 

All  the  children  learned  to  love  him — he  had  won 
their  hearts  that  day. 

In  his  honor,  a  reception,  on  that  eve  the  people 

gave : 

Where,  among  those  whom  he  greeted  were  a  few 
old  veterans  brave. 

Who  had  followed  him  in  battle — members  of  his 

old  command  : 

Tears  of  joy  their  eyelids  moistened,  as  he  clasped 
each  wrinkled  hand. 

There  were  maids  and  matrons,  wearing  the  quaint 

costumes  of  the  day  ; 
There  were  youths  and  little  children,  there  were 

people  old  and  gray. 


Lafayette's    1 7.v/7  to  Saeo.      1825. 

And  the  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  free  to  all, 

who  might  attend  ; 
That  is  how  the  old  town  welcomed,  Lafayette, 

C 'olumbia'  s  /•'riaid . 


Children,  from  life's  stage  of  action  long  ago  he 

passed  away  ; 

War's  dull  roar  wakes  not  his  slumbers — France  now 
guards  his  precious  clay. 

Though  my  sun  of  life  is  setting,  yet  with  every 

fleeting  breath  ; 
I  would  sound  his  wondrous  praises,  till   my   old  eyes 

close  in  death. 

Here's  a  narrow  bit  of  ribbon,  that  I  wore  when  he 

was  here  ; 
Look  !  his  name  is  still  upon   it   in   bold  letters  bright 

and  clear  ! 

Now  I  leave   it   to  your  keeping — guard  it,  children, 

sacredly  : 
As  a  loved  and  sweet  memento  of  those  happy  days 

gone  by. 

In  the  march  of  time  and  progress,  old  things  oft 

from  earth  are  swept  ; 

Hut  the  great  house  still  is  standing,  where  that  night 
the  hero  slept. 

On  Spring's  Island,  all  undaunted  amid  winters  wind 

and  storm  ; 

Kach  succeeding  day,  the  sunlight  shines  upon  its 
towering  form. 

There  it  stands  !  a  shrine  of  history  ! — to  all  who  its 

walls  behold  ; 

May  it  serve  as  a  reminder  of  eventful  days 
of  old. 

And  alike  in  summer  sunshine,  or   in  winters  chilling 

blast 

May  it  stand  ! — the  link  tliat  ever  binds  the   Present  to 
the  Past. 


30  Hill  and  foe's  Reunion. 


BILL  AND  JOE'S    REUNION. 

[Respectfully  dedicated  to  my  friend  Mr.  \V.  \V.  Mclntvre.  S;ico.  M;iine 

"  On  what  charge,"   asked  his  honor, 
"  Is  this  man  to  be  tried  ?  " 
"Drunk,  sir,  and  disorderly! 
The  officer  replied. 
Within  the  spacious  courtroom, 
The  spectators  were  lew  ; 
The  prisoner  was  a  soldier. 
Dressed  in  the  army  blue. 

The  Judge  saw  on  his  lapel, 
That  emblem,  so  well  known, 
The  old  Grand  Army  button  : 
And  pointing  to  his  own 
Said  in  a  voice  more  gentle, 
"  My  friend,  what  means  this,  pray 
Speak  up  and  tell  me,  comrade. 
How  came  you  here  today  ? 

"I'll  tell  you  :  —  Please  your  honor. 

Some  fifty  years  ago, 

Amid  the  hills  of  Cumberland 

I  lived  with  brother  Joe  ; 

Joe  was  a  smart  young  fellow, 

And  just  before  the  war. 

Had  fitted  up  an  office 

As   '  Counsellor  at  Law.' 

"  Our  parents  had  been  buried, 
For  fully  seven  years  ; 
When  old  Abe  Lincoln  issued 
His  call  for  volunteers. 


So  Joe  and  I  enlisted, 
And  slpri.'.'d  lor  the  front  ; 
Where  with  our  noble  comrades. 
We  bore  the  battles  brunt. 

"  At  the  '  Hattle  of  Chickamauga' 
Our  brave  and  valliant  men 
Charged  on  the  Southern   forces  ; 
Hut  were  repulsed  again. 
I  tell  you  it  was  grand,  sir, 
The  way  those  boys  did  fight, 
While  'round  'em  rebel  bullets, 
Were  flying  left  and  right. 

"  And  how  the  cannon  thundered, 
As  with  each  firery  breath, 
They  rained  upon  our  comrades 
Their  iron  hail  of  death. 
That  day  the  blood  flowed  freely 
From  scores  of  'Hoys  in  blue  '  ; 
I  lost  my  own  leg  there,  sir, 
Hefore  that  fight  was  through. 

"  That  night  the  rebels  bore  me 
With  other  wounded   men, 
To  Andersonville  prison. 
That  filthy  Southern  pen  ; 
Where  for  a  year  I  suffered, 
Amid  the  stifling  air  ; 
And  lots  of  Union  comrades, 
Death  '  mustered  out  '  while  there. 

"  When  they  at  last  paroled  me. 

My  first  thoughts  were  of  Joe  ; 

And  back  to  dear  old  Cumberland, 

I  soon  resolved  to  go. 

Hut  Joe  had  left  the  old  home, — 

I  did  not  care  to  stay— 

And  feeling  sort  'o  lonesome, 

I've  drifted  out  this  way. 

"  Last  night  I  met  a  comrade, 
A  '  prison  '  chum  of  mine  ; 


Bill  a)id  foe's  Reunion. 

And  I'll  admit,  your  honor, 
We  soon  were  feeling  fine. 
And  then  perhaps  our  singing 
Of  some  old  army  song  ; 
Annoyed  the  people  'round  us, 
But  we  meant  nothing  wrong. 

"  They've  never  heard  those  war  songs. 
Sung  in  true  soldier  style  ; 
Accompanied  by  the  humming 
Of  bullets  all  the  while, 
We  had  no  '  grand  piano,' 
With  tones  so  rich  and  sweet  : 
But  sang  'em  in  the  sixties, 
To  the  tramp  of  marching  feet. 

"  Your  honor,  I  plead  guilty 
Of  being  drunk  last  night  ; 
But  sir,  I  ask  for  mercy. 
Please  make  my  sentence  light." 
The  Judge  throughout  the  story 
Sat  thinking  of  the  past  ; 
And,  tremb'ling  with  emotion 
He  rose — and  said  at  last  : 

"  The  guilty  ones  must  suffer 
For  all  their  evil  ways  : 
And  this  court  hereby  orders 
That  your  remaining  days, — 
No  sir  !     I  will  not  give  you 
A  chance  to  pay  a  five  ! 
But  sentence  you  for  life,  sir- 
To  dwell  with  me  and  mine  ! 

The  veteran  looked  bewildered  : 
But  as  memory  helped  him  trace 
The  features  of  his  brother 
In  the  stern  old  Judge's  face, 
He  stumped  forward  to  greet  him  : 
The  Judge  sprang  from  his  chair  ; 
And  Joe  and  Bill,  both  sobbing 
Kmbraced  each  other  there. 


/////  and  Joe' ,v   Reunion. 

The  brothers  left  the  courtroom  ; 
Their  hearts  with  joy  o'er  ran  ; 
And  from  that  happy  moment , 
Bill's  life  sentence  began. 
Within  the  Judge's  parlor 
That  night,  while  tears  flowed  fast, 
They  held  a    ' '  (irand  Reunion , ' ' 
Though  thirty  years  had  passed  ! 


34 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE   SACO    RIVER. 

[As  Seen  From  the  Hill  at  the  Foot  of  Gray's  Avenue.] 

From  Heaven's  cloudless  sea  of  blue, 
The  countless  jeweled  stars  looked  down  ; 
High  in  the  east,  the  Harvest  Moon 
Its  glory  shed  o'er  hill  and  town. 
It  is  the  quiet  evening  hour  ; 
Beneath  the  radiant  beams  soft  glow  ; 
Alone,  upon  the  hill  I  stand, 
And  watch  the  peaceful  river  flow. 

In  dreamy  silence,  moving  free, 

Winding  on  its  seaward  way  ; 

Its  tranquil  bosom,  wide  and  deep. 

Reflecting  back  each  slanting  ray. 

Along  the  rough,  uneven  shore, 

Afar  to  the  river's  marsh-bound  rim  ; 

In  dim  outline  upon  the  banks 

The  gaunt  trees  stand  with  leafless  limb. 

Near  to  the  shore  at  either  side, 

Where  long  black  wharves  their  shadows  cast  : 

Boats,  lightly  resting  on  the  tide, 

Are  anchored  at  their  moorings  fast. 

Across  the  river,  bright  and  clear. 

Dotting  the  shore  to  wood-crowned  Heights  ;  — 

As  stars  that  in  the  darkness  shine — 

I  see  the  gleam  of  city  lights. 

Grim  old  sentinels  towering  high, 

In  stoic  silence  on  the  view  ; 

The  buildings  'round  about  me  stand, 

Clad  in  their  robes  of  sombre  hue. 

Far  o'er  the  landscape's  broad  expanse, 

Throughout  the  visions  widest  range  ; 

Familiar  scenes  assume  queer  forms, 

Weird,  ghostly,  phantom-like  and  strange. 


Moonlight  on  the  Saco  River.  37 

Rising  high,  where  the  swift  tide  runs 
The  narrow  rock-ribbed  gorge  between  ; 
Cutts  Island  Hill  with  rounded  dome 
Outlined  against  the  sky  is  seen. 
And  ever,  on  the  still  night  air. 
Floats  the  solemn  ceasless  moan  ;  — 
The  distant  rumble  of  the  Falls, 
In  steady  low  sad  monotone. 

Out  of  the  Narrows,  far  below, 

A  tugboat,  in  the  moonlight  clear  ; 

Steams  gracefully  around  the  bend, 

On  its  way  to  Island  Pier. 

Past  Gray's  Point,  with  measured  stroke, 

It  sails — the  smoke  in  circles  rising  high  ; 

The  sound  of  voices,  faint  and  low, 

Comes  from  the  deck  as  it  passes  by. 

While  gazing  on  the  moonlit  scene, 
I  think  of  the  "  Long-long  Ago  "  ; 
When  as  a  child  I  used  to  stand 
And  watch  the  boats  pass  to  and  fro. 
Ah  !  those  sweet  happy  childhood  hours  ! 
Time's  fleetest  wings  have  bourne  away  ;  — 
To  brighten  all  my  future  years 
They'll  ever  live  in  memory. 

I  think,  too,  of  the  far-off  days 
When  the  forests  and  the  hills  around 
To  noise  of  hammer,  saw  and  plane. 
Re-echoed  back  the  joyful  sound. 
When  thick  and  fast,  the  builders  axe 
.Sent  scattering  the  flying  chip  ; 
While  shaping  on  the  giant  stays, 
The  oaken  timbers  of  the  ship. 

Again,  I  mingle  with  the  throng 
Of  people,  at  the  Launching*  there  ; 
I  hear  their  glad  exultant  shouts 
Break  forth  upon  the  morning  air. 
I  see  the  good  ship,  gliding  down 
Her  slippery  ways  so  gracefully  ; 


Moonlight  on   the  Saco  River. 

And  out  upon  the  broad  deep  stream — 
To  breast  the  tempests  of  the  sea. 

But  the  master-builder,  long  ago 
Was  carried  to  his  final  rest  ; 
The  rays  of  many  moons,  have  sent 
Their  light  upon  the  river's  breast. 
The  Yard  is  empty — all  is  still — 
We'll  ne'er  again  'neath  vaulted  skies 
Behold  the  ship  upon  the  stays, 
Nor  see  her  shapely  timbers  rise. 

When  winter's  snows  were  drifted  high, — 
The  bleak  north  winds  blew  strong  and  cold- 
How  oft  around  the  glowing  hearth 
I've  listened — as  the  tales  were  told. 
Of  savages,  who  with  cunning  stealth 
Along  the  river's  steep  banks  crept 
And  massacred  families  in  the  night, 
As  unsuspectingly  they  slept. 

The  hard)-  pioneers'  exploits, 

Their  customs — sufferings  and  needs  ; 

Stories  of  fierce  battles  fought, 

Of  strange  adventures — daring  deeds  ! 

And  to  my  boyish  mind  and  heart, — 

While  listening  to  each  uttered  word  ;  — 

There  seemed  a  weird,  romantic  charm 

Around  the  wondrous  tales  I  heard. 

Those  dark,  eventful  days  are  passed. 
Upon  the  river — never-more 
Will  Indians  steer  their  light  canoe  ; 
Or  in  the  waters  dip  their  oar. 
Towns  and  cities  have  risen,  where 
The  red-man's  wigwam  used  to  be  ; 
And  all  along  the  stream,  is  heard 
The  busy  hum  of  industry. 

Flow  on  bright  river  of  my  youth  ! 
Thy  praises  I  will  ever  sing  ! 
And  unto  thee  with  willing  heart 
My  tribute  of  affection  bring. 


Flow  ever  onward  to  the  sea.— 
Flin^  thy  ]>ure  waters  on  its  breast  ! 
Thy  journey  o'er — there  thou  shalt  find 
Kmluriug  and  eternal  rest  ! 

May  we,  with  thy  tranquility, 
Pass  uncomplainingly  through  liie  : 
Surmounting  obstacles  in  our  path. 
And  with  a  smile  meet  «Tiel  and  strife. 
Cheerfully  on  to  our  journey's  end. 
Looking  toward  the  goal  above  ; 
Tntil,  like  thee,  we  lose  ourselves 
In  one  ureat  sea  ot  endless  love  ! 


A   HERO  OF   THE  SEA. 

NOTE. — Captain  John  F.  Tavlor  of  the  steamship  Colima,  wrecked  off  tin-  Mexican 
coast  in  the  Pacific,  on  May  2jth.  iNo.^.  will  he  remembered  amonn'  tin.1 
dead  heroes  of  the  sea.  lie  showed  his  Yankee  valor  and  American  yrit 
in  the  last  act  of  his  life.  The  ship  was  foundering  and  had  begun  her  last 
plunge  while  Taylor  stood  at  his  post  on  the  bridge,  calmly  awaiting  the 
end.  Just  as  the  final  lurch  came,  he  seixed  the  rope  to  the  steamship's 
whistle  and  as  the  vessel  went  down,  blew  three  long  blasts.  Not  since 
the  American  ships  went  down  at  Samoa  with  their  bands  playing  national 
airs,  has  such  a  characteristic  exhibition  of  self  control  and  fearlessness 
been  seen  in  a  sea  tragedy.  Captain  Tavlor  was  only  ^i  years  old.  —  Nr.\v 
YORK  Si'N. 

Iii  the  glad  and  beauteous  springtime, 
One  bright  day  in  sunny  May  ; 
From  a  western  Port,  the  Colima 
Weighing  anchor — steamed   away. 

As  she  glided  down  the  harbor. 
There  arose  a  mighty  cheer  ; 
From  the  throats  of  hundreds,  watching 
Her  departure  from  the  pier. 

Passing  by  the  rocky  headlands, 
vSailing  gracefully  and   free  ; 
Each  revolution  of  her  sidewheels. 
Bore  her  further  out  to  sea. 

With  the  motion  of  the  billows. 
She  rocked  gently  to  and   fro  ; 
Keeping  time  to  measured  throbbing 
Of  her  engines,  down  below. 

Kvery  one  on  board  seemed  happy. 
Some  within  the  cabin  sat  ; 
Others  on  the  deck  were   walking, 
Or  engaged  in  friendly  chat. 

As  night,  with  its  deepening  shadows 
O'er  the  blue  Pacific  fell  ; 
Xot  a  thought  of  pending  danger. 
Marred  the  quiet  evening  spell. 


Through  the  gloom,  a  lonely  beacon 
I 'lashed  its  beams  across  the  wave  : 
( )r  among  the  rocks,  a   bellbuoy 
Rang  out  warnings  to  the  brave. 

While  anon,  a  dismal  foghorn 

In  sad  monotones  would  blow  :  — 

Thus  the  night  passed — morning  found  them, 

Off  the  coast  of  Mexico. 


Suddenly,  a  heavy  crashing 
Comes  with  awful  deathlike  sound  ! 
And  the  great  ship  reels  and  staggers. 
Then  it  partly  wheels  around  ! 

With  her  trusty  rudder   broken, 
Xow  the  steamer  drifts  and   balks  ; 
As  a  bird  with  broken  pinions, 
She  is  helpless  'mong  the   rocks." 

Well  the  Captain  knew  the  meaning 


44  A   Hero  of  the  Sea. 

Of  the  sounds  that  reached  his  ears  : 
And  with  grim  determination, 
On  the  ship's  bridge  he  appears  ! 

In  a  steady  voice,  he  orders 

His  brave  men  to  lower  the  boats  ; 

"  vSave  the  women  first — and  children — 

Quick  lads,  while  the  old  ship  floats  ! 

Men  and  women,  nearly  frantic. 
Groaned  and  prayed  with  every  breath  ;- 
On  the  Colima's  bridge  stood  Taylor, 
Calmly,  face  to  face  with  death. 

With  his  hands  upon  the  railing. 
As  he  looks  from  stern  to  prow  ;  — 
Not  a  trace  of  terror,  lingers 
On  his  noble  manly  brow  ! 

While  the  ship  stands  on  her  beam-ends. 
E're  she  plunges  'neath  the  wave  : 
Fearlessly  her  young  commander, 
With  a  heart  yet  strong  and  brave. 

Grasps  the  whistle-rope  and  pulls  it, 
Thrice  he  blows  a  lengthened  blast  !  — 
In  the  deep  and  foaming  waters. 
Man  and  steamship  sink  at  last  ! 

Out  across  the  wild  Pacific, 

The  whistle  sounded  loud  and  clear  ;  — 

A  salute  to  those  who  struggled 

On  the  broken  wreckage  near, 

Aye  !  a  greeting  to  old  ocean  ! 
A  salute  to  death  as  ice  11  ! 
To  the  dead  and  to  the  dying, 
T'was  a  sad, — yes — final  knell  ! 

Never  braver  man  than  Taylor, 
Sailed  upon  the  rolling  sea  ; 
Never  dwelt  a  nobler  hero, 
'Neath  the  old  flag  of  the  free  ! 


./    I fcro  of  the  Sea.  45 

You  may  lake  the  whole  world's  history. 

All  its  storied  pages  scan  ; 

And  you  ne'er  will  find  a  record. 

Of  a  more  courageous  man. 

Seldom  has  our  nation  witnessed, 
Such  grand  sell  control  before  ;  — 
<  hici. — when  those  brave  hearted  seamen 
Sank  in  death  just  off  Samoa  ! 

Who,  while  yet  their  ship  is  sinking, 
Kach  man  to  the  deck  repairs  ; 
And  they  pass  their  final  moments, 
Singing  patriotic  airs. 

With  the  band  on  deck  still  playing, 
They  cheer  the  "Banner  of  the  Brave;  " 
'Till  each  voice  is  stilled  forever, 
'Xeath  the  ocean's  restless  wave. 

Honor  to  those  valiant  heroes  !  — 
Worthy  of  their  native  land — 
Records  of  such  deeds,  will  ever 
Through  eternal  ages  stand  ! 

Surrounded  by  a  fadeless  glory. 
High  upon  the  "  Scroll  of  Fame  ; 
vSide  by  side,  with  Samoa's  heroes, 
Will  be  found  brave  Taylor's  name  ! 

And  the  Captain's  dying  signal, 
Sounding  like  a  muffled  drum  ; 
O'er  the  blue  Pacific  waters. 
Will  be  heard  for  vears  to  come  ! 


Religious  Poems. 


THE  POWER  OF  A  SONG. 

As  I  strolled  through  a  foreign  city. 
At  the  close  of  one  Christinas  day  : 
Into  an  old  cathedral, 
My  footsteps  chanced  to  stray. 
And  I  beheld  within  its  portals 
A  scene  of  splendor  bright ; 
As  the  chandeliers  above  me 
Sent  down  their  flood  of  light. 

There  were  the  massive  columns, 
And  the  ceiling  rich  and  grand  ;  — 
On  the  frescoed  walls  were  paintings. 
Rare  works  of  a  master's  hand. 
T'was  a  scene  of  classic  beauty. 
That  met  my  wondering  eyes  : 
It  seemed  as  if  I'd  entered 
The  gates  of  Paradise. 

And  I  heard  the  notes  of  the  organ, 

From  the  choir  loft  above  ; 

As  its  sweet  tones  floated  downward, 

In  whisperings  of  love. 

How  my  heart  thrilled  with  emotion, 

At  the  tender,  soothing  sound  : 

In  my  inmost  soul,  the  music 

An  answering  echo  found. 

The  chords  became   more  stately. 

As  they  pealed  from  the  organ's  throat  : 

And  a  sound  as  oi  heavenly  triumph. 

Rang  out  in  every  note. 

The  sadness  of  earth,  was  pictured 

In  a  tender  minor  strain  : 

That  brought  to  my  mind  dark  vision;- 

Of  misery,  want  and  pain. 

Then  a  melodv — O  so  restful  : 


The  Po'icer  of  a   Song.  49 

And  my  heart  was  soon  at  ease  ; 

For  a  message  of  God's  great  goodness 

Poured  forth  from  the  organ  keys. 

Now  slowly — as  sinks  at  twilight 

The  rays  of  the  setting  sun, — 

So  sank  the  last  note  into  silence. 

And  the  great  prelude  was  done. 

In  the  choir,  there  rose  a  maiden, 
vSo  beautiful  and  fair  ; 
It  seemed  as  if  an  angel 
From  Heaven  was  standing  there. 
T'was  the  form  of  a  lovely  singer  ; 
And  a  hush  as  still  as  death 
Seemed  hovering  o'er  the  people 
As  they  sat  with  bated  breath. 

Softly  the  chords  of  music, — 

In  an  echo  far  away — 

O'er  the  throng  came  gently  stealing, 

Like  the  breath  of  a  summer's  day. 

Then  tones  so  rich  and  bird-like, 

Floated  upon  the  air  : 

In  "  Ave  Maria's  "   sweet  measures — 

T'was  the  voice  of  the  singer  fair. 

It  seemed  as  if  God  was  speaking 

In  every  tone  and  word  ; 

And  the  heart  of  each  hearer  present. 

To  its  inmost  depth  was  stirred. 

As  triumphantly,  the  music 

Through  the  old  cathedral  rang  ; 

We  knew  that  the  heart  of  the  singer. 

Was  in  the  song  she  sang. 

With  a  radiance  celestial. 
Her  features  were  aglow  ; 
In  the  beauty  of  her  presence 
The  heart  forgot  its  woe. 
Life's  sorrows  seemed  to  banish, 
And  the  soul  of  that  vast  throng 
Were  lifted  nearer  Heaven, 


T he  Pou'cr  of  a   Song. 
By  the  singer  and  the  song. 

"  .-/zr  Maria." — How  sweetly 
That  heaven-inspired  song  : 
Arose  with  its  tender  cadence 
Above  the  listening  throng. 
It  touched  the  very  heartstrings  ; 
All  eyes  were  bathed  in  tears  ; 
Strong  men  that  night  were  weeping. 
Who  had  not  wept  in  years. 

At  the  altar,  the  priest  arising, 

Brushed  away  th' unbidden  tear  ; 

And  said,    "Let's  pray,   dear  children. 

For  truly  God  is  here." 

Then  with  a  tender  accent, 

And  a  power  before  unknown  ; 

He  laid  the  people's  sorrows 

Before  the  heavenly  throne. 

For  years,  at  that  sacred  altar 
He  had  labored  long  and  well  : 
But  that  night  he  seemed  inspired, 
'Neath  the  music's  magic  spell. 
From  his  lips  fell  pearls  of  wisdom. 
As  he  stood  in  the  holy  place  : 
And  the  light  of  love  and  kindness. 
Beamed  in  the  good  man's  face. 

The  final  words  were  spoken, 
The  Benediction  said  : 
A-down  the  aisle,  the  people 
Walked  with  reverent,  solemn  tread. 
And  out  beyond  the  portals. 
Kach  wending  his  way  home — 
Above — the  moon  shone  brightly 
On  the  cathedral's  massive  dome. 

And  not  a  word  was  uttered, 

Xo  sound  fell  on  the  air  ; 

Ah  !    Xo  !    Kach  mind  was  busy 

With  thoughts  of  the  singer  fair. 

The  song  in  the  soul  of  each  hearer 


Tlic  Po'n'cr  of  a 


Had  found  a  responsive  chord  ; 
H  sootlied  tlie  sorrowing  spirit, 
And  brought  it  nearer  God. 

In  mein'ry.  that  song  will   linger. 

As  long  as  life  remains  ; 

In  affliction's  darkest  hour 

I  shall  think  of  those  sweet  strains. 

And  when  at  last,  earth's  sunbeams 

For  me  no  longer  shine  : 

I'll  pass  through  death's  dark  valley 

Cltccrcd  In1  that  song  divine  . 


MOTHER'S    DYING    PRAYER. 

[Founded  on  the  famous  Hvnm,  "  Abide  with  me,"  hv  Henry  Francis  L\ie.  ] 

The  air  was  hushed  and  still ; 

The  silvery  moon  made  bright  the  eastern  sky  : 

Day  had  faded. 

The  shadows  deepened. 

As  night  drew  nigh. 

One  by  one,  the  glittering  stars  appeared. 
Bright  gems  on  the  sea  of  blue  above  ; 
No  sound  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Save,  from  the  distant  woodland 

The  whip-poor-will's  song  of  love 

The  gentle  moonbeams  softened  rays. 
Stole  through  the  windows  of  the  room  ; 
They  fell  on  the  rough,  unpainted  floor, 
They  chased  away  the  surrounding  gloom. 
With  anxious  heart  I  sat  there,  watching. 
Listening  to  each  deep-drawn  breath  ; 
Bathing  mother's  throbbing  temples. 
As  she  lay,  twixt  life  and  death. 

She  awoke  !   I  saw  her  pale  lips  moving — 
As  the  moonbeams  shone  upon  her  face, 
It  assumed  a  new  and  radiant  beauty  ; 
Heaven's  own  light  seemed  to  fill  the  place.— 
I  listened  : — just  the  faintest  whisper 
Fell  upon  my  waiting  ear- 
As  I  watched  the  patient  face  before  me, 
I  tried  to  check  the  falling  tear. 

Her  sunken  eyes  were  bright  and  glassy, 
She  looked  on  me  with  deathlike  stare  ; 
Her  pale  lips  moved — and  bending  o'er  her. 
I  caught  the  accents  of  her  prayer. — 
' '  Lord  be  thou — 


Mother  s  Dying  Prayer. 

My —  stay —  and —  guide — 
My —  eyes —  grow —  dim — 
Fast —  falls —  life's —  eventide — 
The —  darkness —  deepens — 
Lord —  with —  me —  abide." 

The  old  clock  slowly  chimed  eleven, 
From  the  gray  steeple  on  the  hill; 
And,  save  for  mother's  heavy  breathing. 
The  night  once  more  was  calm  and  still. 
Her  thin  hands  lay  across  her  bosom, 
The  blood  flowed  to  her  finger-tips; 
In  silent  sympathy,  the  moonbeams 
Softly  kissed  her  trembling  lips. 

She  woke  again!   she  looked  at  me; 

The  mother-love  shone  in  her  eye ; 

The  same  sweet  smile  played  'round  her  lips. 

That  I'd  oft-times  seen  in  days  gone  by. 
' '  Abide —  with —  me  "• 
Her  lips  were  moving — 
"Hold  thou —  thy —   cross 
Before —  my  closing —  eyes"- 

Faint  and  fainter,  her  murmured  praying  — 
"O —  -light—  -my — way— 
To —   -  yonder —  —  skies" 

' '  While —  I  near —  the —  surging —  tide 
Through —  —  death's —  dark —  vale 
With —       -me —       —abide." 

All  was  still; From  the  dark  church  tower. 

The  old  bell  tolled  the  midnight  hour ; 
I  held  her  cold,  white  hand  in  mine, 
1  watched  the  heaving  of  her  breast; 

"  Abide —       -  with —      — me" 

She  closed  her  eyes,, 
Dear  mother's  spirit  was —       -  AT  REST! 


54 


OPPORTUNITIES   OF  LIFE. 

[Respectfully  inscribed  to  Mrs.  Charles  Ilaines.  Biddetbrd,  Maine.] 

Though  our  life  is  sometimes  dreary. 
Yet,  we  all  possess  the  power 
Of  doing  good  to  those  around  us, 
As  the  sunshine  helps  the  flower. 

\Yeary  hearts  and  saddened  faces. 
Greet  us  every  where  we  go  ; 
Precious  jewels  now  lie  buried. 
'Xeath  the  dust  of  shame  and  woe. 

Just  a  word  in  kindness  spoken  ; 

Just  one  sympathetic  tear  ; 

Would  make  the  heavy  heart  seem  lighter. 

And  dispel  the  darkest  fear. 

We  should  never  shrink  from  duty  : 
Let  us  throw  cold  pride  away. 
And  strive  to  do  some  deed  of  kindness 
'Ere  the  closing  of  each  day. 

God  is  pleased  with  noble  actions  : 
Every  deed  that's  done  in  love. 
Is  recorded  by  the  angel 
In  that  wondrous  book  above. 

Let  us  help  the  weak  and  needy  : 
Prove  a  blessing  to  mankind  : 
Live  for  others — and  departing, 
Leave  a  noble  name  behind . 


LOOKING   BEYOND  THE  SUNSET. 

[To  inv  friend  Rev.  T.  II.  Stacv,  pastor  of  the   Free   Baptist  Church,  Saco.  Maine. 
and  Author  of   "  In  the  Path  of  Light  Around  the  World."] 

Merging  into  peaceful  twilight,  clay  is  drawing  to  a  close. 
Folded  are  the  tender  petals  of  the  daffodil  and  rose  ; 
All  the  little  feathered  songsters  are  returning  to  their  nest. 
And  the  sky  is  bathed  in  splendor,  as  the  sun   sinks  in  the  west. 

Seated  near  the  open  door-way  is  an  old  man  bowed  with   years, 
Watching  each  receding  color,  as  the  sunlight  disappears  ; 
And  he  notes  the  varied  changes — gold  to  purple — then  again 
Deeper  grows  the  gathering  shadows,  till   a   few  bright  spots  remain. 

Lost  in  silent  meditation,  sits  he  in  the  twilight  gray, 
Heeding  not  the  passing  moments  —  for  his  thoughts  are  far  away  ; 
lie  is  thinking  ol  the  loved  ones  who,  perhaps,  in  days  of  yore 
Watched  with  him  the  summer  sunset  : — Now  they're  gone   forever- 
more  ! 

As  with  wrinkled  hand,  he  brushes  from  his  eyes  the  falling  tears. 

Fair-haired  Hess — his  little   grandchild — through    the   open    door  ap 
pears  ; 

And  she  asks  ol  him  a  question,  as  she  climbs  upon  his  knees, 

"  What  is  there  beyond  the  sunset,   won't   you  tell  me.  grandpa, 
please  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes.  my  darling,  I  will  tell  you,  so  that  you  may  understand. 
Lying  just  beyond  the  sunset,  is  a  happy,  golden  land  ; 
Full  ol  mystery  and  grandeur,  full  of  beauties,  rich  and  rare. 
There   "  Life's  Tree"  blooms  by  the  river,  amid  jeweled  mansions  lair. 

"  When  our  loved  ones  die,  a  boatman  rows  them  o'er  the  crystal  sea, 
And  upon  the  shore  they're  waiting  — watching  there  for  you  and  me  : 
I  shall  soon  cross  o'er  the  waters,  for  your  grandpa's  growing  old. 
Soon,  dear  Bessie,  he'll  be  walking  through   those  shining  streets  of 
sold." 


56  Looking  Beyond  the  Sunset. 

"  But,"  spoke  up  the  child  in  wonder,    "wont  you.  grandpa,  need  a 

light 3 

'Cause  you  cannot  see  the  pathway,  in  the  darkness  of  the   night. 
Then  the  old  man  answered,  kindly,  as  he  stroked  her  silken  hair. 
"  I  will  need  no  lamp,  my  darling,  for  there'll  be  no  night  up  there  ! 

"To  that  land  beyond  the  sunset,  unseen  hands  will  lead  the  way. 
Guide  us  to  that  jasper  city,  when  we  leave  earth's  shadows  gray  ; 
There,  the  vSavior.  by  His  presence,  will  make  bright  each  golden 

street. 
There  it  will  be  love  and  gladness  and  our  rest  will  be  complete. 

"  Look  !   the  sun,  behind  yon  mountain,  long  ago  has  sunk  to  rest. 
And  the  shades  of  night  have  gathered,  in  the  east  and   in  the  west  : 
Kvery  vestige  of  the  sunset  from  the  western  sky  has  gone, 
But  its  golden  glow  will  brighten  all  the  hill-tops  at  the  dawn  ! 

"So,  when  our  life's  sun  is  sinking,   death's  dark   night  will  gather 

'round. 

And  the  grim  and  silent  boatman,  wrapped  in  mystery  profound. 
O'er  the  wide  and  peaceful  waters,  will  in  safety  bear  us  on. 
Where  we'll  wake,  amid  the  beauties  of  a  bright  and  joyous  morn. 

"  Yes,  beyond  the  sunset  glory,  I've  been  looking  main-  years. 
I  am  ready,  when  the  summons  comes,  to  leave  this  vale  of  tears  : 
Poor  old  grandpa's  worn  and  weary  and  he  longs  for  sweet  repose, 
In  that  land  beyond  the  sunset,  -a' he  re  the  dav  shall  never  close." 


57 


LIFE'S  TWILIGHT   AND   CLOSE. 

The  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  Pepperell  Park.  Sae~o,  Maine.] 

The  sun  had  set,  a  golden  glory 
Lingered  in  the  distant  west; 
All  around  was  calm  and  peaceful, 
But  my  heart  was  not  at  rest. 

And  I  sat  and  meditated. 
On  the  changing  scenes  of  life: 
Wondering  why  some  hearts  are  happy. 
While  so  many  were  at  strife. 

And  methought,  the  clouds  could  answer, 
So  I  raised  my  searching  eye, 
But  the  clouds  were  busy,  forming 
Pictured  landscapes  on  the  sky. 

Karth  seemed  robed  in  quiet  grandeur, 
As  night  shades  began  to  fall, 
And  the  last  faint  glow  of  sunset. 
Shed  a  lustre  over  all. 

And  the  dim,  mysterious  future 
Seemed  to  me  not  near  as  fair 
As  the  park  that  lay  before  me. 
Clothed  in  simple  beauty  there. 

There  it  lay.      Its  grass-grown  carpet 
Cut  by  devious  pathways  through, 
Dotted  here  and  there  with  flowers 
Drinking  in  the  evening  dew. 

All  the  trees  rose  like  grim  spectres; 
Crickets  trilled  their  evening  tune; 
And  the  far-away  church  spire, 
Partlv  hid  the  crescent  moon. 


Life's    Twilight  and  Close. 

The  weird  water  tower  and  windmill, 
Draped  in  twilight's  sombre  hue. 
With  the  artificial  lakelet, 
Made  more  charming  still  the  view. 

On  the  water,  not  a  ripple 
Rose  to  mar  its  peaceful  breast : 
E'en  the  pile  of  rocks  beside  me 
All — save  mv  heart  was  at  rest. 


Soon  I  heard  a  long,  sharp  whistle. 
And  a  sound  of  rumbling  wheel ; 
Then,  I  saw  a  locomotive 
Plunging  o'er  its  track  of  steel. 

But  a  second — how  it  hurried — 
Through  the  darkness — on  and  on 
And  out  of  sight — just  so  time  passeth, 
The  hour  is  here — and  then — t'is  gone. 


Sunburned  laborers  came  bv  me. 


Life's    Twilight  and  Close.  59 

Weary  with  the  toil  of  day; 
Dinner  pails  in  hand  they  carried. 
As  they  went  their  homeward  way. 

And  each  voice  betrayed  a  sadness, 

As  its  tones  fell  on  the  air; 

And  each  heart,  like  mine,  seemed  heavy. 

Burdened  with  a  weight  of  care. 

And  my  restless  heart  grew  quiet 
As  a  deep,  smooth  flowing  stream  ; 
When,  just  then,  approaching  footsteps 
Woke  me  from  my  thoughtful  dream. 

They  passed  on. — From  o'er  the  river. 
Bells  as  if  with  tongues  of  gold 
From  "Saint  Mary's"  distant  tower. 
The  Angelus'  sweet  story  told. 

And  I  bowed  my  head  in  silence  ; 
Reverently  I  listened  there. 
Till  "Saint  Mary's"   bells  ceased  ringing 
And  the  tones  died  on  the  air. 

Then  a  voice  seemed  near  me  speaking. 
And  it  whispered  unto  me, 
"  When  thine  earthlv  journey' s  ended 
Thou  wilt  know  each  mystery. 

"  Every  heart  must  hare  its  trials, 
Each  one  must  his  burdens  bear  ; 
(rood  and  evil,  joy  and  sorro'u'. 
Every  one  must  have  his  share. 

"From  life's  morning  to  its  noontide, 
To  the  setting  of  life' s  sun, 
Through  the  gathering  twilight  shadows, 
E'er  this  earthly  walk  is  done, 

" Man' must  meet  with  life's  great  changes. 

Till  the  parting  hour  has  flown; 

After  he  has  passed  death's  valley. 

Then  the  '  t'nknown'  will  be  'Known  '  !  " 


6o 


PEACEFUL  REST. 

When  our  hearts  are  worn  and  weary. 
Burdened  with  a  weight  of  care  ; 
Thou  hast  bid  us,  Heavenly  Father, 
Seek  relief  of  Thee  in  prayer. 
Then  when  waves  of  doubt  and  sorrow 
Sweep  across  our  troubled  breast : 
Wilt  thou  comfort  and  sustain  us, 
May  we  find  in  Thee,  sweet  rest : 
Sweet,  happy  rest, — 

Peaceful  Rest 


6i 


THE    GATEWAY. 

There's  a  gateway  that  leads  to  the  City  of  Light, 
Where  chvelleth  our  Master  and  Lord; 
And  between  its  bright  pillars,  each  mortal  must  pass. 
Who  enters  the  portals  of  God. 

In  that  land  just  beyond  the  sweet   "River  of  Rest," 
We'll  meet  with  our  loved  ones,  we're  told; 
There  amid  the  rich  splendors  of  glory  we'll  dwell, 
Where  new  beauties  forever  unfold. 

A  kind  word  or  a  smile  of  a  loved  one  that's  gone, 
Our  sad  hearts  delight  to  recall; 

Of  life's  fond  recollections  which  memory  holds  dear, 
We  find  these  are  most  precious  of  all. 

Oh  the  comforting  thought,  we  shall  see  them  again, — 
Just  over  the  river  they  wait — 

There  will  be  no  more  parting,  no  sorrow,  nor  pain. 
When  we  pass  through  the  beautiful  gate. 

'Tis  said,  that  golden  gate  never  is  closed, 
—This  is  one  of  God's  promises  true — 
There  are  pleasures  untold,  there  is  sweet,  happy  rest, 
Beyond  the  gate  where  our  loved  ones  pass  through. 


Patriotic  Poems. 


64 


MEMORIAL   DAY— 1893. 

Once  again  \ve  give  to  the  boys  in  blue 

The  right  of  way  through  our  city  street; 

All  trade  has  ceased  and  naught  is  heard, 

Save  the  steady  tramping  of  soldiers  feet. 

The  martial  airs  as  they  greet  the  ear 

Of  the  battle-scarred  veteran  is  music  sweet ; 

And  his  heart  once  more  throbs  with  youthful  fire. 

As  he  hears  again  the  old  drums  beat. 

Years  ago,  'mid  the  din  and  smoke  of  battle. 

The  sight  of  "  Old  Glory"  through  his  heart  sent  a  thrill 

And  though  his  hair  is  white  and  his  step  be  unsteady. 

Yet  the  aged  veteran  loves  the  old  flag  still. 

As  he  stands  with  that  staff  in  his  trembling  hands, 

The  love  of  a  patriot  beams  in  his  eye  ; 

vSee  !  he  watches  each  fold  as  'tis  swayed  by  the  bree/e, 

While  it  clings  to  its  pennant  between  earth  and  sky ! 

But  why  does  he  wear  that  emblem  of  mourning? 
And  why  all  the  flowers  in  their  beauty  and  bloom  ? 
And  why  does  he  march  with  that  low  steady  tread  ? 
And  why  sound  the  drums  like  a  voice  from  the  tomb  ? 
Oh  !  this  day  to  the  veteran  is  the  day  of  all  days  ! 
The  blood  thrills  anew  in  his  heart  old  and  brave, 
As  he  reverently  kneels  and  places  a  wreath 
By  the  wee,  small  flag  on  his  dead  comrade's  grave! 

He  drops  a  tear  on  the  oval  mound  ; 

Then  silently  rises  and  turns  away  ;  — 

It  will  not  be  long,  'ere  a  comrade's  hand 

Will  place  a  wreath  on  his  grave  some  day. 

Soon  for  him  will  sound  the  "Taps," — "  Lights  out  !  " 

And  the  soul  of  the  veteran  will  speed  away  ; 

And  around  the  "Camp  Fire"  by  the  eternal  hills, 

In  peace  will  asseinb/c  the  "  Itlne  and  the  (irav  !  " 


THE   BANNER  OF  PEACE. 

Sherman  Command.  No.  i.  I'nion  Veteran's  I'liion.  Saco,  Maine.  With  the 
asMirance  of  the  author's  loyally  and  devotion  to  the  brave  boys  who  wore  the 
blue  and  who  made  it  possible  for  our  country's  rlatj  to  be  what  it  is  :  "  The 
Manner  of  Peace." 

Behold  our  nation's  banner! 

'Tis  the  ein1)lein  of  the  free; 

It  proudly  waves  throughout  our  land, 

And  over  every  sea. 

Our  lathers  fought  and  bled  and  died. 

That  dear  old  flag  to  save  ; 

They  bravely  faced  the  cannon's  mouth, 

And  filled  a  hero's  grave. 

It  is  the  pride  of  every  one 
\Yho  loves  their  native  land  ; 
To  shield  that  banner  from  disgrace, 
They'd  proudly  take  their  stand. 
It  is  the  noblest,  grandest  flag- 
That  ever  was  unfurled  ; 
I.ong  inav  it  n'arc  triumphantly, 
In-loved  bv  all  the  icorld. 

The  golden  sunlight  streaming  down. 

Mow  beautiful  and  grand  ; 

The  glorious  colors  seem  to  blend, 

As  with  an  artist's  hand; 

To  see  that  flag  bedecked  with  stars. 

Its  stripes  and  field  of  blue, 

It  is  the  grandest  sight  on  earth, 

And  thrills  one  through  and  through. 

It  triumphed  on  the  battle-field  ; 

It  triumphed  on  the  sea  ; 

Beneath  its  folds  Abe  Lincoln  stood, 

And  bid  the  slaves  go  free. 

How  many  a  dying  soldier 

Cheered  it  with  their  latest  breath; 


66  The  Manner  of  Peace. 

They  sacrificed  their  lives  for  it 
And  now,  thev  sleep  in  death. 

Beneath  our  banner's  silken  folds, 

We  dwell  in  peace  today  ; 

And  while  that  flag  waves  on  its  staff. 

No  tyrant  hand  can  sway. 

Xo  traitor's  foot  can  tread  this  soil 

To  aid  a  cause  unjust, 

While  \ve  have  on  our  nation's  shield 

These  words,  "/;/  God  we  trust !" 

Let  every  loyal  heart  rejoice, 

May  we  be  firm  and  true  ; 

Standing  all  unitedly 

Beneath  the  red  and  blue. 

May  Liberty 's  bright  crown  be  ours , 

The  sunlight  ever  gleam  ; 

Upon  our  land  where  peace  prevails, 

And  Freedom  reigns  supreme  ! 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION. 

To  Fred  S.  Gurney  Post  G.  A.  R.,  Saco.  Maine.] 

I  have  been  to  those  countries, 

Across  the  blue  sea. 

To  Europe's  far-famed  shore  : 

I  have  been  through  the  north, 

I  have  been  through  the  south, 

I  have  travelled  this  wide  world  o'er. 

I  have  seen  the  Alps  mountains, 

vSo  famous  and  high. 

With  their  snow-capped  peaks  so  grand  ; 

But  I  think  we  can  boast, 

Of  as  beautiful  sights. 

To  be  seen  in  our  own  native  land. 

We  can  boast  of  a   Washington, 

Lincoln  and  Grant, 

Those  mighty  Commander-in-chiefs : 

We've  an  Army  and   Navy, 

That  cannot  be  beat. 

That  will  come  to  our  nation's  relief. 

We've  an  emblem  of  purity. 

Bright  as  the  sun, 

Xo  emblem  was  ever  so  grand  : 

As  that  beautiful  banner. 

The   "  Stars  and  the  Stripes," 

That  waves  o'er  our  dear  native  land. 

We  can  boast  of  our  waterfalls. 
Mountains  and  rills, 
And  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  his  den  ; 
And  our  steep,  rugged  cliffs. 
Have  for  hundreds  of  years. 
Been  the  theme  of  the  poets  pen. 
We  have  schools  and  colleges. 
Free  to  all 


6S  The  /*/<n 


And  freedom  and  liberty  grand  : 
And  we'll  have  it 

As  long  as  the  Stars  and  the  Stripes, 
Wave  over  ou'r  dear  native  land. 

Then  forever  that  "Star  Spangled  Banner''  shall  \vave, 

As  long  as  in  God  we  do  trust : 

Then  let  us  stand  firm  and  never  allow. 

That  old  banner  to  trail  in  the  dust. 

Let  our  government  buildings  unfurl  to  the  breexe. 

That  spotless  banner  so  grand  : 

To  prove  to  the  world  that  we're  proud  of  the  flag. 

That  waves  o'er  our  dear  native  land  ! 


69 


THE    NATION'S   TREASURE. 

Old  fla.o-.  thou  art  the   nation's  treasure. 
Wave  thou  o'er  this  land  so  free: 
Xo  traitor's  hand  shall  ever  harm   thee. 
ICmblem  oi  sweet  lil>erty. 

1C  very  loyal  heart  adores  thee, 
\Yith  a  ])atriotic  love  : 
While  Columbia's  Poets  praise  thee. 
(iod  approves  //ice  from  above .' 


Personal  Poems. 


TO    OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES. 

[On  his  great  poem   "The  Chambered  Nautilus."] 

Glancing  over  literature's  broad  field, 

Dotted  with  so  many  brilliant  gems  of  thought  : 

My  eyes  beheld  a  jewel  brighter,  fairer  than  the  rest, 

The  work  of  a  master-mind — 'twas  so  divinely  wrought. 

With  anxious  beating  heart  I  hastened  on  ; 
Longing  to  reach  this  precious  gem  so  rare, 
And  feast  my  eyes  upon  its  graceful,  perfect  form, 
And  study  each  ray  of  thought  that's  shining  there. 

This  rich  gem,  "The  Chambered  Nautilus," 
For  such  it  proved  to  be  as  I  drew  near — 
Had  a  peculiar  charm,  a  beauty  all  its  own 
Whose  every  thought  shone  out  so  bright  and  clear. 

There  is  sweetest  music  in  each  and  every  line. 
Its  rich,  low  melody  soothes  the  tired  soul  : 
It  points  us  upward  to  a  higher,  nobler  life, 
And  teaches  us  that  earth  is  not  our  goal. 

Great  Poet  ! 

Thy  life  is  crowned  with  kind  and  gracious  deeds  : 

Good  words  and  works  have  lined   thy  pathway  all  along 

( )ur  hearts  are  happier  because  than  hast  lired, 

The  world  is  brighter  and  better  for  thy  song! 

A  monument  to  thee  more  grand,  man  cannot  give; 
Were  he  to  try.  his  work  would  be  in  vain  : 
For,  when  silver,  bronze  and  marble  shall   have  perished, 
"   'I' lie  L  ha  inhered  .\aiif/7ns"  7,v'//  vet  remain  .' 


TO    JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER. 

Noble  bard 

Thou  who  hast  sung-  so  main-  sweet  and  tender  lays  ; 
Thou  art  enshrined  in  our  nation's  heart  of  hearts, 
The  world  delights  to  speak  and  sing  thy  praise  ! 

The  warm  and  generous  heart  that  beats  within  thy  breast, 

Has  ever  felt  a  pitying  love  for  those  who  are  oppressed  ; 

T'was  thou  who  shared  that  glorious  work. 

Whereby  a  million  slaves  were  made  forever  free; 

And  beneath  the  dear  old  "Stars  and  Stripes," 

All  men  are  equal — all  enjoy— 

The  same  sweet  peace  and  liberty. 

Thou  hast  been  pure,  unselfish  in  thy  ways; 
Search  where  we  will. 
A  nobler  life  than  thine  we  cannot  find. 
When  thou  art  called  to  that  bright  home 

beyond  the  skies. 
What  spotless  record  thou 'It  leave  behind. 

May  God  be  with  thee  in  thy  ways, 
His  richest  blessings  thee  be  given  ; 
And  peaceful  be  thy  closing  days, 
Till  thou  art  called  from  earth  to  Heaven. 


TO  GENERAL   NEAL   DOW.      1804-1894. 

Written  in  honor  of    his  "Ninetieth    Birthday  "  and    respecttuih     insi-rilu-i'    to    li 
hv  the  an  ill  or. 

Maine  bids  her  sons  and  daughters  join. 
With  those  \vho  dwell  in  distant  lands. 
In  weaving  fadeless  garlands  fair 
With  lovings  hearts  and  willing  hands, 
To  crown  her  favorite  son. 

Today  we  honor  him  whose  life 
Has  proved  a  blessing  to  all  men  : 
And  scanning  his  past  history 
We  find,  at  four-score  years  and  ten 
..Ye  dutv  left  undone. 

Faithful  and  loyal,  true  to  right. 
He  holds  no  compromise  with  wrong  ; 
Hut  with  unbounded  faith  in  God, 
With  a  purpose  firm  and  strong 
He  champions  our  cause. 

Hehold  him  in  our  "Capital  halls:  " 
And  while  the  world  with  wonder  looks. 
He  pleads — he  fails — at  last  he  icins  ; 
And  places  on  our  statute  books 
Maine's  grandest  law  of  laws  ! 

Gaze  on  a  picture,  dark  and  drear  ; 
It  is  the  Maine  of  years  ago  : 
Her  wretched  homes — her  ruined  farms, 
Her  bar-rooms  dealing  death  and  woe. 
Distilleries  on  her  soil. 

From  hillside,  mountain,  vale  and  plain. 
Want  spreads  its  gaunt  and  sallow  wings  ; 
While  hard-earned  dollars  are  exchanged, 
For  that  which   poisons,  mocks  and    stings 
Her  hardv  sons  of  toil. 


To  (iencral 


Dou\ 


/5 


But  Oil,  how  different  is  the  change 
Since  alcohol  lias  ceased  its  reign. 
Prosperity  and  happiness 
Are  known  on  every  hill  and  plain, 
Contentment  now  holds  sway. 

Where  once  the  old  distillery  stood, 
And  spread  its  ruin  and  disgrace, 
A  church,  a  school,  or  home  now  stands, 
And  love  beams  in  each  honest  face, 


Maine's  history  the  world  knows  well: 
And  how  she  strugged  to  be  tree  : 
How  when  the  final  victory  came, 
The  news  flashed  over  land  and  sea, 
"Maine's  temperance  laic  lias  passed." 

And  i/ob/v  did  our  leader  stand 

Through  those  dark  days  of  doubts  and  lear 

Undaunted  and  alone,  he  met 

The  world's  rebuffs,  its  taunts  and  jeers, 

A'///  /vV///  triumphed  at  last . 


-6  To  General  Ncal  Dow. 

Heroic  soul,  from  myriad  hearts 
Who  dwell  upon  Maine's  sacred  sod. 
Full  many  an  earnest  prayer  goes  forth 
In  humble  gratitude  to  God. 
That  them  hast  lived  so  long. 

The  truly  great  can  never  die  ; 
Their  work  is  of  the  world  a  part  ; 
It  needs  no  record  carved  in  stone, 
for  ' 'tis  enshrined  in  every  heart , 
Immortalized  in  song . 

We  learn  from  thy  self-sacrifice, 
Thy  pure  devotion  to  the  truth. 
That  all  may  live  a  useful  life, 
A  blessing  be  to  man  and  youth  ; 
(Be  that  our  highest  aim.) 

And  thus  like  thee  we'll  earn  the  love. 

And  gratitude  of  all  mankind  : 

And  when  we're  called  from  earth  away, 

A  noble  record  leave  behind ', 

A  never  dying  name  ! 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON.    1732-1799. 

Washington  !     O  name  immortal  ! 
Linked  with  our  great  nation's  story  ; 
Touching  all  its  wondrous  pages, 
With  a  rich  and  fadeless  glory. 

A  world  of  nations  bow  in  reverence, 
Before  thy  great  illustrious  name ; 
Today  not  one  stone,  can  be  added 
To  the  temple  of  thy  fame. 

When  the  nation  chose  the  ruler. 
To  grace  the  Presidential  seat  ; 
That  day,  the  final  stone  was  added, 
Thy  temple  of  fame  was  made  complete. 

When  oppression's  dark,  despotic  power 
Threatened  our  country's  heart  to  rend  ; 
In  sore  distress,  she  found  in  thee 
Her  liberator — -father — -friend  ! 


WASHINGTON  AND  DOW. 

[Respectfully  inscribed  toGeneial  N'eal  I)o\v  of  Port'.-md.  M;n'ne. 

A  century  swift-winced,  has  flown 
Since  Washington's  spirit  passed  away  : 
A  foe  worse  than  British  hosts, 
Assils  the  hearts  of  men  today. 

This  tyrant's  firm,  relentless  hand, 
Robs  manhood  of  pure  virtues  coal  ; 
It  robs  man  of  life's  brightest  hopes, 
And  makes  his  face  to  blush  and  bloat, 

Its  track  shows  death  and  desolation. 
The  greatest  mind  it  over-throws  : 
'The  stoutest  heart  quails  nealh  its  power. 
As  up  and  down  the  world  it  goes. 

Xow.  the  temperance  army  follows 
A  leader,  whose  heart  is  brave  and  true 
As  that  which  beat  for  Washington 
Xeath  continental  coat  of  blue. 

Though  our  leader's  gray  in  service. 
Rum  finds  in  him  as  bitter  foe  : 
As  Britons'  found  in  Washington, 
A  century  or  more  ago. 

Dow  framed  the  law  of  Prohibition, 

He  raised  her  banner  to  the  breeze  ; 

The  grand  old  cause  is  still  advancing, 

From  "Pine    Tree  State"  to  "Southern   seas  ' 

Washington,  "  Father  of  his  Coitntrv. 
M    de  possible  our  free  condition  ; 
The  temperance  people  point  with  privk- 
To  /)(>u',  the  ** Father  of  Prohibition 


Washington  and  How.  79 

(iod  grant  the  Prohibition  shi]), 

May  spread  her  sails  o'er  every  sea  ; 

And  enter  every  port  and  clime, 

'Till  earth  from  rum  has  been  made  free. 

Dow,  —  \vith  heroes  of  ages  past 
Thy  name  will  dorn  the  scroll  of  fame  ; 
And  through  the  mist  of  coming  years. 
An  army  of  mothers  will  bless  thy  name. 

In  memory,  thy  name  will  live 
When  life's  bells  have  ceased  to  chime  ; 
And  linked  with  our  great  Washington, 
Will  fdw  dotcn  tlic  halls  of  time ! 


8o 


IN    MEMORIAM. 

[Harlev  E.  Hanson,  born  April  5th,  1889,  died  June  loth.   1893 

The  dimpled  hands  are  cold  and  white 
Upon  the  pulseless  breast ; 
With  loving  care,  the  childish  form 
Is  laid  away  to  rest. 

Sealed  are  the  lips,  the  voice  is  hushed. 
Closed  are  the  bright  blue  eyes  ; 
The  one  our  hearts  had  learned  to  love. 
Now  dwells  beyond  the  skies. 

While  innocent,  'ere  sin's  dark  hand 
Has  touched  and  stained  his  soul, 
God  has  called  the  loved  one  home, 
Where  Life's  pure  waters  roll. 

Mourn  not  that  unto  one  so  young, 
The  call,  "  Come  Home  "  is  given  ; 
His  death,  but  makes  the  path  more  bright 
That  leads  from  earth  to  heaven. 

Cull  earth's  fairest,  sweetest  flowers, 
That  the  morning  dew-drops  lave  ; 
And  place  them  with  a  loving  hand, 
Upon  the  new-made  grave. 

And  when  the  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
Each  golden  tie  of  love, 
Will  be  stronger  and  more  beautiful. 
In  that  bright  world  above. 


Temperance  Poems. 


82 


"Work  on!  sail  on!  the  morning  comes, 
The  port  ye  yet  shall  win  ; 
And  all  the  bells  of  God  shall  ring 
The  ship  of  temperance  in." 

From  John  (i.  Whittier's  "Temperance  Ship.' 


THE    TEMPERANCE    SHIP    SAILS    ON 

The  old  ship  still  her  course  pursues. 
It  heeds  not  wind  or  storm  ; 
Through  waves  of  doubt  and  unbelief, 
Past  opposition's  rugged  reef 
She  sails!   like  some  majestic  form. 

With  sails  of  truth  and  right  unfurled. 
Our  gallant  ship  will  never  fail; 
But  ever  on  time's  crested  wave  — 
With  noble  seamen,  true  and  brave,— 
She'll  safely  ride  through  every  gale. 

The  shore  is  lined  with  brilliant  lights. 
Whose  rays  outshine  the  brightest  stars  : 
They're  always  burning  bright  and  clear. 
And  by  their  light  the  sailors,  steer 
The  ship  away  from  rocks  and  bars. 

God's  hand  is  ever  at  the  helm, 
We  need  not  fear;    He  knows  the   way: 
Our  noble  ship   He'll  safely  guide. 
And  soon  in  her  majestic  pride 
She'll  enter  victory's  peaceful  bay. 

How  many  thousands  have  been  wrecked. 
How  many  lives  are  filled  with  gloom  ; 
The  drunkard's  way  is  sad  and  dark. 
For  every  day,  his  wretched  bark 
Hut  bears  him  nearer  to  his  doom. 


The  Temperance  Ship  Sails  on.  83 

\\Tith   "Faith"  in  God  who  rules  us  all. 

With   "  Hope's''  bright  star  to  guide  and   lead  : 

\Yith    "Charity"  for  all  mankind. 

In  us,  the  rum- wrecked  soul  will  find 

A  faithful  friend  —  a  friend  indeed. 

When  victory  crowns  our  labors  here, 
When  ruin  shall  cease  and  be  no  more; 
We'll  join  with  that  vast  throng'  above 
In  one  grand  song  of  peace  and  love — 
We'll  praise  our  God  forevermore ! 


THE    STAIN     UPON     OUR     FLAG. 

While  \ve  are  blessed  with  freedom's  crown. 
Poor  souls  are  still  in  chains; 
They  are  like  ihe  slaves  ol  years  a^o  : 
They  suffer  untold  pains. 

If  everyone,  who  loved  their  homes, 
Would  lend  a  helping  hand ; 
Intemperance  would  cease  to  be; 
//  'e' d  drive  it  from  our  land ! 

That  dear  old  flaj^  we  love  so  well. 
Is  cursed  by  ruin  to-day  : 
It  bears  a  stain  upon  its  folds. 
That  might  be  ~<easlied  tnctir. 

No  patriotic  son  ean  stand, 
(  'nmored  and  see  the  shanie , 
That  brings  disgraee  upon  our  flag  , 
And  blights  our  country' s  name! 


8.s 


A    WORD    TO    THE     BOYS. 

Hoyh,  beware  of  the  snares  of  the  tempter  ; 
Grave  dangers  beset  you  on  every  side; 
The  waves  of  intemperance  may  sweep  around  you. 
And  bear  you  away  on  its  perilous  tide. 

Thousands  of  boys  in  the  past  have  been  tempted, 
To  leave  the  safe  path  for  the  death-dealing  bowl; 
They've  blasted  their  prospects,  their  life  has  been  ruined, 
Strong  drink  has  destroyed  both  body  and  soul. 

.Strive  to  prepare  yourselves  for  the  future  ; 
Improve  every  golden  hour  of  youth ; 
Study  the  lessons  of  virtue  and  temperance. 
And  stand  boldly  up  for  the  right  and  the  truth. 

He  watchful  when  choosing  your  friends  and  companions; 
Select  only  those  that  are  manly  and  true  ; 
Don't  shirk  any  duty  be  it  ever  so  little, 
He  faithful  and  honest  in  all  that  von  do .' 

Remember  my  boys,  the  great  men  of  the  nation. 
Who  occupy  honored  positions  today, 
Hegan  life  in  youth,  by  a  faithful  devotion 
To  each  little  duty  that  came  in  their  way. 

This  thought  bear  in  mind — our  great  men  are  dying; 
And  in  their plaees  someone  »inst  stand : 
That  someone  means  von,  for  the  time  is  coming 
When  the  nation's  affairs  will  be  placed  in  vour  hands. 

Then  prepare  yourselves  for  the  future  before  you  ; 
Stand  up  for  the  right  what'ere  may  befall; 
He  faithful,  be  loyal,  be  true  to  your  country  : 
He  read}"  to  follow  where  duty  may  call. 

Stand   up  for  the  flag  and  help  to  sustain  it; 

Let    "  tn/t/i"  be  your  watchword  and  "r/V///"  be  your  cry: 

This  one  great  thought  have  ever  before  you, 

Though  von  are  bovs  to-da\\  vou'll  be  men  bv-and-bv ! 


86 


DON'T  BE  AFRAID  TO  SAY  "YES!" 

Dear  brother  if  you're  on  the  wrong  road  to-night. 

And  think  you  are  minus  a  friend. 

Don't  be  mistaken,  we'll  help  you  to  rise. 

Our  aid  we  are  willing  to  lend. 

We  ask  you  to  come  and  once  more  be  a  man  : 

My  brother  don't  longer  delay; 

For  life  is  so  short  'twill  soon  be  too  late. 

The  time  is  fast  passing  away. 

Don't  think  we're  above  you,  because  you  are  poor. 

Because  you've  been  low  down  in  sin, 

We  long  to  receive  you,  come  just  as  you  are, 

Don't  wait  but  just  now  enter  in. 

There's  many  a  jewel  now  lost  in  the  dust  ; 

There's  many  a  gem  that  would  shine: 

Just  say  you'll  be  free  from  the  demon  to-night. 

And  freedom's  bright  crown  shall  be  thine. 

There's  many  a  mind  that  is  now  steeped  in  drink, 

That  the  world  would  be  proud  to  own  ; 

There's  many  a  thought  that  would  shine  like  a  star 

But  alas  they  are  lost  and  unknown. 

You  are  living  to-day  but  tomorrow's  not  yours. 

You  know  you  are  not  doing  right  ; 

Just  burn  all  the  bridges  and  let  the  past  go. 

And  start  on  a  new  way  to-night. 

The  harvest  is  ripe,  there's  plenty  to  do 
For  each  one  in  the  temperance  band  ; 
Young  man  will  you  aid  us  by  signing  the  pledge  ? 
And  help  drive  the  curse  from  our  land  ? 
For  you  can  be  honest  and  upright  and  true  : 
However  humble  your  dress; 
We  only  ask  you  to  do  what  is  right, 
Then  don't  be  afraid  to  sav  "   }'cs  "  / 


MOTHER'S  FAVORITE  HYMN. 

THI-:    RKKORMKI)    MAX'S    STORY. 

Boy's,  if  you'll  listen,  a  story  I'll  tell 
In  words  that  are  simple  and  plain: 
How  by  the  demon  drink  I  fell. 
And  how  I  rose  again. 

1  remember  as  though  it  were  yesterday. 

The  mother  of  my  youth: 

Who  taught  me  to  regard  the  good 

And  always  love  the  truth. 

When  evening  shadows  began  to  dawn 

And  daylight  steal  away. 

How  often  we  would  gather  'round 

The  kitchen  hearth  to  pray. 

My  mother's  teachings  still  remain, 

Within  this  heart  of  mine  : 

And  like  a  jewel  in  the  dust 

They  often-times  would  shine. 

Her  loving  councils  she  would  give. 

And  often  when  in  drink 

Her  patient  face  would  smite  my  heart  : 

And  I  would  stop  and  think. 

But  still  the  demon  lured  me  on, 

I  could  not  from  it  part, 

I  kept  right  on  from  bad  to  worse, 

And  broke  my  mother's  heart. 

.She  soon  fell  ill.  I  can't  forget. 

I  stood  beside  her  bed  ; 

Just  one  sweet  smile,  and  all  was  o'er, 

I  knew  her  soul  had  fled. 

They  gently  bore  her  toward  the  church. 

Whose  aisles  she'd  often  trod  ; 

Where  many  times  in  life  she  had  stood 

And  testified  for  God. 


8<S  Mother '.s-  I'aron'tc  If  yum. 

The  choir  sang  the  tender  strains 

Like  distant  music,  dim. 

Of  "  Rock  of  Ages  Cleft  for  Me," 

My  mother's  favorite  hymn. 

They  bore  her  out  with  silent  tread. 

Ah  !   bitter  day  for  me  ; — 

They  laid  her  in  her  narrow  bed 

Beneath  the  old  oak  tree. 

I  left  off  drinking  for  a  while, 
And  tried  with  all  my  might 
To  let  the  dread  demon  alone 
And  do  just  what  was  right. 
But  e're  a  month,  I  went  to  sea, 
And  soon  forgot  the  past  ; 
Each  day  I  sank  still  lower  down,— 
The  die  was  nearly  cast. 

Our  ship  soon  reached  a  foreign  port, 

( I  think  it  was  Bombay,  ) 

The  sun  just  rising  o'er  the  hills 

Proclaimed  the  dawn  of  day. 

I  left  the  ship,  and  went  on  shore 

I  did  not  stop  to  think  ; 

But  told  the  boys  to  come  with  me 

And  we  would  have  a  drink. 

On  our  way,  we  saw  a  church 

That  stood  just  near  the  street  ; 

The  boys  said  they'd  go  in,  il  I 

Would  lead  them  to  a  seat. 

We  all  went  in,  but  hark  ! — What's  that  D 

That  old  familiar  strain  ! 

Tis  "  Rock  of  Ages  Cleft  tor  Me,  " 

My  mothers  hymn  again  ! 

It  touched  my  heart.  I  could  not  stir  ; 

My  thoughts  began  to  roam  ; 

To  the  grave    among    "  New    Hampshire' 

And  my  far-off  childhood  home. 

"  Rock  of  Ages  Cleft  for  Me," 

Oh.  God.  I  must  give  in;  — 


Mother's  l-'aroritc  Hymn. 

"  Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee, 
And  save  my  heart  from  sin. 

And  thus  before  my  comrades  there 

I  prayed  as  ne'er  before  ; 

And  sin  went  out  and  peace  came  in 

As  through  an  open  door. 

Weeks  to  months  and  years  have  passed  : 

Hut  I'm  no  more  rum's  slave  ; 

And  now,  I'll  work  and  snatch  poor  souls 

From  out  the  drunkard's  grave. 

Thus,  you  see  just  how  it  is  ; 

Now  boys,  don't  drink  again  ; 

Hut  trust  in  Christ,  —  He'll  give  you  strength. 

He'll  surelv  break  the  chain. 


BEN   MURCH  ON  THE  KEELEY  CURE. 

Yes,  friends.  I'm  enjoying  life  every  day, 
Since  God  in  his  mercy  snatched  me  away 
From  alcohol's  terrible  brink. 
I'm  thinking  folks  will  be  left  in  the  lurch 
Who  suppose  for  a  minute  that  old  Ben  Murch 
Will  ever  go  back  to  drink. 

There's  but  little  romance  in  my  past  life; 
'Tis  a  tale  of  hardship,  of  struggle  and  strife. 
My  life's  a  record  of  up's  and  down's 
Few  smiles — but  I've  had  my  share  of  frowns. 

In  a  New  Kngland  village  near  a  rugged  hill, 
Stood  my  boyhood  home  —  and  in  fancy  still 
I  see  my  mother — the  guide  of  my  youth  — 
Whose  life  was  a  model  of  beauty  and  truth. 
My  mother  —  God  bless  her  memory  to-night  — 
'Tis  years  since  she  passed  to  those  mansions  of  light. 
But  I've  not  time  to  tell  of  those  memories  so  dear, 
I  must  go  on  with  my  story  and  not  linger  here  ; 
I  remember  'twas  a  beautiful  day  in  June, 
There  was  no  school  that  afternoon. 
And  I  and  a  schoolmate  of  mine  named  Will 
Had  planned  to  go  up  to  the  old  stone  mill. 
The  mill  by  degrees  had  been  crumbling  away. 
And  all  around  it  showed  signs  of  decay  : 
Since  the  old  miller  died  the  rust  of  years 
Had  gathered  on  shafting  and  pulley  and  gears; 
And  oft,  when  the  nights  were  cold  and  damp. 
Its  moss-covered  roof  sheltered  many  a  tramp. 
At  the  mill  we  climbed  the  old  rickety  stair, 
Which  groaned  'neath  our  weight  like  a  ghost  on   the  air. 
Upstairs,  'twas  dark,  and  so  gloomy  and  still 
That  a  hundred  goblins  seemed  to  haunt  the  old  mill. 
In  crossing  the  floor  (we  had  almost  to  creep) 
My  foot  touched  something  —  twas  a  tramp,  fast  asleep! 


Hoi  Mnrch  on  i/ic  A'cr/Vj'  Cure.  91 

Near  his  side  a  bottle  of  whiskey  I  found  : 

After  picking  it  up  we  both  turned  'round 

And  scampered  down  the  rickety  stair, 

And  once  more  out  in  the  clear,  free  air 

\Ye  skipped  the  board  fence  and  over  the  hill 

Sped  far  away  from  the  old  stone  mill. 

We  had  gone  a  full  mile,  when  both  thought  best 

That  we  sit  down  and  talk  over  matters  and  rest. 

After  awhile,   Will,  not  stopping  to  think, 

Just  for  fun  proposed  that  we  take  a  drink. 

Ah  !    'twas  a  moment  of  struggle  and  strife  : 

I  said   "yes,"    but  that    "yes"    has  ruined  my  life. 

From  that  day  my  decline  was  rapid  and  sure  ; 

I  left  all  behind  that  was  noble  and  pure. 

And  rushed  madly  on,  never  stopping  to  think  ; 

My  mind  seemed  given  up  wholly  to  drink. 

Ah  !  that  first  glass  formed  an  appetite 

That  has  made  my  life's  record  as  black  as  night. 

Mother  often  begged  me,  again  and  again 

To  stop  drinking,  but  all  of  her  pleadings  were  vain. 

I  soon  with  my  parents  was  called  to  part  : 

For  both  of  them  died  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  place  was  mortgaged,  I  had  no  home. 

And  friendless  and  penniless  was  forced  to  roam 

I'p  and  down  the  world  —  nowhere  —  now  there  — 

My  clothes  soiled  and  ragged,  but  what  did  I  care; 

For  all  of  my  former  pride  was  gone. 

And  everyone  ga/.ed  at  me  with  scorn  : 

Xot  one  word  of  kindness  to  greet  my  ear  ; 

My  life  seemed  comfortless,  barren  and  drear; 

'Twas  always  a  sneer  as  folks  passed  me  by 

They  said,    "  It  were  better  that  he  should  die  ; 

He's  only  a  miserable  drunkard  at  best." 

But  a  warm  heart  oft  beats  in  a  drunkard's  breast. — 

'Twas  a  few  months  ago  I'd  been  drinking  hard, 

I  was  dirty  and  ragged,  my  face  was  scarred  ; 

I  had  grown  almost  tired  of  trying  to  live, 

And  I  thought,  "Oh,  what  would  I  give 

If  I  could  begin  life  over  again. 

And  redeem  the  past?"   and  tears  fell  like  rain. 

Just  then  a  stranger  saw  the  tears  on  my  cheek, 


92  /ten  Mureli  on  the  /\ee/ev  Lure. 

And  he  stepped  before  me  and  began  to  speak. 

I  remember  his  face  all  smiles  and  light — 

God  bless  him  wherever  he  may  be  to-night. 

Said  he,    "  You're  in  trouble — you're  in  need  of  a  friend, 

And  with  your  permission,  I'd  like  to  lend 

My  aid  and  help  you  once  more  be  a  man; 

I  see  you're  surprised,  but  if  you  will,  you  can 

Be  once  more  honest  and  upright  and  true. 

For  I've  helped  many  a  poor  fellow  like  you." 

Then  he  sat  down  beside  me  ( for  all  I  was  poor) 

He  told  me  of  Keeley  and  his  wonderful  cure. 

Then  he  said.    "  I  know  your  life  is  a  wreck. 

But  if  you'll  take  the  cure,  I'll  draw  my  check." 

I  thought  I  had  reached  the  end  of  my  rope, 

But  his  words  touched  my  heart  and  filled  me  with   hope. 

They  were  the  first  kind  words  I  had  received  in  years. 

And  I  only  could  thank  him  with  grateful  tears. 

And  to  this  very  day  I  hardly  know 

How  I  told  him.  but  I  said  I  would  go. 

And  the  cure  did  just  as  the  stranger  said  ; 

From  the  soles  of  my  feet  to  the  crown  of  my  head 

I  was  made  a  new  man — from  the  drunkard's  grave 

I  was  rescued.     The  bonds  that  held  me  a  slave 

Were  broken  asunder,  and  I  began  life  anew, 

Resolved  to  live  upright,  honest  and  true. 

God  bless  Dr.  Keeley,  for  the  work  he  has  done, 
But  I  believe  the  good  work  has  only  begun  : 
Let  us  live  upright  and  redeem  the  past, 
And  to  honor  and  virtue  be  true  to  the  last. 

The  statues  we  rear  to  our  heroes  who  die. 

'Xeath  twinkling  stars  and  a  sunlighted  sky. 

In  the  years  that's  to  come,  with   its  storm  and  rust 

Must  sooner  or  later  crumble  to  dust. 

Then  let  us  not  rear  a  statue  of  stone, 

That  will  stand  today  and  tomorrow  is  gone, 

Hut  we'll  honor  Leslie  Keeley1  s  great  name 

liy  human  monuments  to  his  undying  fame. 


DRIVING   THE    FATAL   NAILS. 

You  arc  driving  a  nail  in  your  casket,  young  man. 

When  you  are  taking  a  drink  : 

Before  your  lips  touch  the  fatal  glass. 

Slop  a  few  moments  and  think. 

You  are  wasting  your  Hie,  you  are  losing  your  friends. 

Then  why  do  you  not  give  it  up? 

Young  man,  break  away  from  the  dram-shop  today. 

And  shun  the  dangerous  cup. 

You  are  not  only  nailing  your  own  casket,  boys. 

As  you  heedlessly  go  on  your  way  ; 

You're  driving  your  dear  mother  nearer  the  grave. 

You  are  causing  her  sorrow  each  day. 

Your  gray-haired  father  is  fast  bowing  down, 

He  feels  the  remorse  and  the  shame; 

Where  once  he  was  proud  of  his  innocent  child, 

He  now  blushes  when  speaking  your  name. 

Your  comrades  may  laugh,  they  may  scoff,  they  may  jeer. 
But  t'will  give  your  mother's  heart  joy : 
When  she  sees  that  liquor  no  longer  can  claim. 
The  soul  of  her  own  precious  boy. 
Then  leave  those  vile  dens  and  your  manhood  assert, 
Shun  the  evil  that  lies  in  your  way  ; 
Just  stop  driving  nails  in  your  casket,  young  man, 
You'll  fuid  in  f/ic  aid  it  will  pay  ! 


94 


THE  TEMPERANCE   FOLKS  RESOLVE. 

Intemperance  must  go,  friends — here  is  the  reason  why. 
The  good  people  are  rising  up  with  this,  their  battle  cry  : 
"  King  Alcohol  has  held  his  sway  around  us  long  enough, 
And  now  we'll  rid  this  land  of  ours  of  the  accursed  stuff." 

We'll  labor  earnestly  each  day  to  aid  the  temperance  cause, 
Our  ballots  we  will  cast  for  men,  who'll  give  us  temperance  laws: 
We'll  dash  the  cup  beneath  our  feet,  so  all  the  world  may  know. 
That  we  in  truth  mean  what  we  say — Intemperance  must  go! 

Intemperance  must  go,  friends,  saloon-men  are  in  fear, 
They  live  in  almost  constant  dread  of  someone  watching  near  ; 
They  grow  more  watchful,  as  they  ply  their  trade  from  day  to  day. 
With  careful  eye.  they  deal  out  goods  in  stealthy,  guarded  way. 

Then  friends,  work  on  with  cheerful  hearts,  we  soon  must  win  the  fight. 
For  God  is  leading  us  along,  our  cause  is  just  and  right ; 
With  mottoes  and  with  banners,  we'll  hail  the  joyful  day, 
When  the  dread  monarch,  Alcohol,  has  ceased  to  hold  its  sway. 

Remember,  friends,  in  sixty-one,  the  soldiers,  brave  and  true, 
Fought  years,  before  they  gained  the  day  beneath  the  red  and  blue  : 
Then  with  new  courage,  let  us  all  work  on  till  we  are  free, 
And  thus  beneath  our  glorious  flag  we'll  win  the  victory. 

With  loud  hosannas  on  our  lips  we'll  triumph  over  wrong, 

The  chariot  of  temperance  we'll  help  to  roll  along; 

The  victory  will  soon  be  ours  the  sight  we  vet  shall  sec , 

Beneath  the  "Stars  and  Stripes"  we'll  \\\Q.  from  dram-shops  ever  free  ! 


Miscellaneous  Poems 


OLD  AMBROSE. 

[A  tale  of  an  old  Slockadf.] 

'T\vas  twilight's  sweet  and  dreamy  hour. 

The  birds  to  their  nests  were  winging  their  flight  ; 

Day  with  its  care  was  silently  sinking 

Into  the  shadowy  arms  of  night. 

Numberless  stars  in  the  heavens  were  shining, 

The  moonlight  was  entering  each  valley  and  glade, 

As  a  gray-haired  man,  with  tottering  footsteps 

Arrived  at  the  Old  Backwoods  Stockade. 

"  You  want  more  guards?  "  he  asked  the  Sergeant, 

The  soldier  replied,  "  You  are  most  too  old  ; 

We  want  a  man  whose  hand  is  steady, 

A  man  of  nerve  and  of  iron  mould. 

A  soldier  must  act,  when  orders  are  given, 

Without  any  favors  what  e'er  may  befall  ; 

Here,  no  mercy  is  shown  any  prisoner 

Attempting  to  climb  the  Stockade  wall." 

"  I  know  I  am  old,  but  then,"  he  faltered, 

' '  I  am  sure  I  can  shoot  as  straight  and   well 

As  any  man  that  e'er  held  a  rifle, 

And  I  warrant  you  each  ball  will  tell. 

You  may  think  I'm  too  old,  but   I'm  not,"  he  urged, 

Please  try  me,  sir,  if  lor  only  an  hour  ; 

And  I'll  bring  to  the  ground  whoever  attempts 

While  I'm  on  guard,  to  escape  from  your  power." 

"  I  haven't  much  heart  to  do  anything,  sir. 
I've  been  drifting  around,  now  here,  now  there  ; 
My  wife  is  dead,  my  family  is  gone, 
My  sons  are  scattered — I  know  not  where. 
Just  give  me  the  post  and  I'll  do  my  duty, 
Upon  this  place  my  old  heart  is  set  : 
A  man  only  has  his  duty  before  him, 
And  mv  dutv  never  has  scared  me  vet.' 


Old  Ambrose.  97 

'Neath  the  lighted  lamp,  the  old  man  standing 

His  gray  beard  catching  the  moving  light, 

He  seemed  a  venerable  patriarch, 

With  his  calm,  set  face  and  hair  so  white  ; 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  the  Sergeant  queried. 

The  old  man  thought  for  a  moment  or  two 

Then  answered,    "  For  years  I've  been  called  Old   Ambrose: 

Just  call  me  Ambrose — Old  Ambrose  will  do." 

Still  undecided,  the  Sergeant  said, 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  take  you  or  not  ; 

For  several  prisoners  have  lately  escaped, 

And  I  wish  to  hold  the  entire  lot, 

But  I'll  try  you,  Ambrose,  and  see  how  I  like  you  ; 

Remember,  I've  stated  your  duty  plain  ; 

Now,  sir,  this  soldier  will  give  you  a  tent 

And  when  the  guards  change,  I'll  see  you  again." 


The  shadows  of  night  grew  deep  and  deeper, 

Old  Ambrose  waiting,  with  impatient  tread 

Was  pacing  the  ground,  when  a  Corporal  called  him. 

And  to  Headquarters  he  straightway  was  led. 

He  entered  the  tent,  with  cap  in  hand, 

And  saluting,  said,    "  Sergeant,  I  await  your  command.'' 

' '  You  take  your  post  at  yonder  corner  ! 
Be  watchful,  sir,  'tis  an  important  place  !  " 
"  All  right,  sir,  I'll  obey  your  orders  ;  " 
And  the  lines  were  rigid  on  Ambrose's  face. 


An  hour  had  passed,  when  piercing  the  clouds 

The  moon  almost  changed  the  night  into  day  ; 

L,ook !   Look !    A  prisoner  bursts  through  the  embankment 

And  runs  for  the  woods  a  few  rods  away  ! 

"  Halt!  "   cries  Ambrose,  "  Halt  or  I  fire  !  " 

Thrice  he  cries  '  halt '  ;— the  fugitive  speeds  on  ; 

Then,  quick  as  lightning  a  rifle  is  leveled. 

And  a  ball  upon  its  mission  has  gone. 

'Twas  true  what  old  Ambrose  had  told  the  Sergeant, 


98 


When  he  said,  '  each  shot  from  his  rifle  would  tell,1 
He  had  proved  it,  for  there  in  the  shadows 
The  man  lay  dead  on  the  spot  where  he  fell. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  the  fellow," 

He  said  to  the  Sergeant,  "  But  he  would  try 

To  get  away.      He  stepped  in  a  hollow. 

So  my  bullet  hit  him  a  little  high. 

He  should  have  stopped  when   I  cried   'halt,'   but  would'nt 

If  he's  dead,  why    'tis  no  one's  fault  but  his. 

Sergeant,  may  I  go  over  a  minute  ? 

I'd  like  to  know  who  the  poor  fellow  is." 

By  the  Sergeant's  permission,  Ambrose  went  over; 
On  his  side  the  man  lay  cold  and  still ; 
The  night  winds  were  sighing  a  requiem, 
Which  spread  over  forest,  valley  and  hill. 

Ambrose  looked  on  the  still,  white  face  before  him, 

Then  in  agony  cried,  "  O  what  have  I  done  ! 

My  God  have  pit}*!    How  can  I  survive  it, 

For  my  bullet  has  killed  my  eldest  son  ! 

With  a  cry  of  despair,  the  poor  man  reeled   forward  : 

And  raising  his  hand  to  his  old  gray  head, 

Fell  prostrate,  beside  the  young  man's  body. 

The  shock  had  killed  him  ! — Old  Ambrose  ercr.v  dead  ! 


101 


A    SEPTEMBER    RAMBLE. 

Dedicated  to  inv  friend  and  former  schoolmate  Philip  C.  Taplev,  Saco,  Me.] 

It  was  a  fine  September  day. 

All  cloudless  was  the  sky  ; 

When  through  the  woods  and  fields  we  roamed. 

My  old  friend  Phil  and  I. 

• 

Along  the  dusty  country  road, 
Passed  green  and  fertile  farms ; 
Through  pleasant  vales,  o'er  rugged  hills, 
Kach  graced  with  nature's  charms. 


We  wandered  on,  until  we  reached 
A  calm  secluded  nook  ; 
Deep  in  the  silvan  forest's  shade, 
Close  by  a  running  brook. 

And  seated  on  the  bank,  we  talked 
Of  happy  days  gone  by  ; 
When  we,  as  boys  beside  that  stream. 
Sat  'neath  the  summer  sky. 

We  mentioned  names  of  old  schoolmates, 
—  Bovs  ne'er  by  us  forgot  — 
With  whom  we  played,  in  years  agone. 
Around  that  very  spot. 


.  /   September  Ramble. 

There  was  Ivory,  Roscoe  and  Leroy. 
Chase  reach-  for  a  prank  — 
With  Eel  and  Jim  and  Chester,  too. 
And  genial  hearted  Frank. 

We  wondered  if  they  thought  of  us. 
And  did  their  memory  still; 
Revert  to  our  old  playing  ground. 
Beneath  McXeally's  hill5 

And  thus  we  talked,  and  thought,  and  lived 
The  old  scenes  o'er  again; 
Once  more,  as  boys,  we  roamed  among 
Those  pine-clad  hills  of  Maine. 

We  followed  down  the  narrow  path, 
Beside  the  winding  stream  ; 
Reluctantly  we  left  the  spot 
And  ceased  each  boyish  dream. 

Through  tangled  maze  of  under-brush, 
'Mid  groves  of  stately  pine; 
With  here  and  there,  an  open  space 
Through  which  the  sun  would  shine. 

Now  over  stumps  decayed  by  time. 
Through  marshes  damp  and  cold  ; 
Passed  many  a  ragged  ledge  of  rocks. 
Both  picturesque  and  bold. 

'Twas  thus  on  that  September  day. 
Through  woods  and  valleys  green  ; 
We  walked  together,  Phil  and  I. 
Charmed  with  each  varied  scene. 

We  climbed  a  sloping  hill  and.  Lo  ! 
A  sight  that  thrilled  us  through  : 
A  scene,  both  glorious  and  grand, 
Burst  full  upon  our  view  ! 

Away  toward  the  distant  east. 

We  saw  with  wandering  eye ; 

Two  cities,  with  their  towering  spires. 

Outlined  against  the  skv  ! 


./   September  Ramble.  103 

There  stood  the  cities,  side  by  side, 
The  river  flowed  between  ; 
While  stretching  far  below  us.  lay 
Broad  fields  and  meadows  green. 

That  scene  will  live  in  memories'  shrine. 
With  all  its  wonderous  grace; 
It  left  impressions  on  our  hearts. 
Time  never  can  efface. 

I  hope  that  you  and  I,  friend  Phil. 
When  life's  journey  is  o'er; 
May  gaxe  into  that  "Spirit  Land,  " 
Beyond  this  earthly  shore. 

And  looking,  view  a  grander  scene. 
Though  not  with  mortal  eyes  — 

A  L'itv  that  is  built,  upon 
The   ' '  Hills  of  />a radisc  ' '  / 


104 


FAREWELL    WINTER. 

Winter,  the  bold  white  King  of  the  year 
Has  departed  at  Spring's  command  : 
And  earth  once  more  is  free  from  the  grasp. 
Of  his  cold  and  icy  hand. 

He  has  wrapped  his  snow  white  mantle  aTxmt 
His  lank  and  shivering  form  ; 
And  gone  far  away  to  a  colder  clime, 
There  to  rule  over  wind  and  storm. 

The  snow  that  fell  from  his  chilling  hand, 
Gives  place  to  the  dripping  rain  : 
Jack  Frost  has  long  ago,  drawn  his  last 
Phantom  form  on  the  window  pane. 

The  hunter  no  more  through  the  forests   roam 

In  search  of  the  frightened  hare  : 

Its  foot-prints  now,  he  cannot  discern. 

For  the  fields  and  woods  are  bare. 

The  river  has  burst  its  hermit  seal. 
And  the  ice  has  sea-ward  run  : 
A  million  jewels  now  dance  and  play 
On  its  breast,  'neath  the  glowing  sun. 

Old  Winter,  we  bid  you  a  long  farewell : 
And  to  Spring  with  its  sweet,  warm,  rain, 
To  the  beautiful  flowers  and  twittering  birds. 
We  extend  our  heart's  greeting  again. 


105 


THE    FALLEN    OAK- 

Respectfully  inscribed  to  Miss  Lizzie  E.  Gowdv,  Saco,  Maine,  in  grateful  remem 
brance  of  the  many  acts  of  kindness  she  has  shown  the  author  during  his 
earl  v  school  da  vs. 

•  old  oak  tree  in  Pepperell  Park,  Saco  Maine,  was  blown    down    during 
vere  gale,  Julv  23nd.  1893.       This  was  one  of  the  oldest  trees  in  Maine. 


(io 

km 


circumference  was  sixteen  feet.  It  broke  about  eight  feet  from  the 
mid  where' it  was  somewhat  decayed.  The  father  of  Maine's  first 
•ernor  gathered  acorns  under  this  tree  when  he  was  a  bov  and  it  was 
wn  as  ••Tin-:  Oi.n  OAK"  then. 


There  stood  upon  a  grassy  knoll, 
A  brave  old  oaken  tree ; 
Whose  top  o'er-looked  the  river.  * 
As  it  hurried  to  the  sea. 
By  heavy  storms  and  windy  gales. 
Its  branches  oft  were  strained  ; 
But  like  a  hero  on  the  field 
Undaunted  it  remained. 

A  relic  of  "Old  Pilgrin  Days.  " 

When  times  were  sad  and  dark  ; 

The  record  of  a  nation 

Is  inscribed  upon  its  bark. 

And  when  beneath  its  swaying  boughs, 

The  deadt  were  laid  to  rest ; 

The  cold,  unfeeling  sod  was  placed 

Above  the  lifeless  breast. 

Its  friendly  arms  were  spread. 
As  if  in  silent  love  and  trust  : 
It  stood  a  willing  sentinel. 
Above  the  sleeping  dust. 
Within  the  cvcle  of  the  vears. 


io6 


The  I*  all  en    Oak. 

As  Autumn-time  came  'round  ; 
It  scattered  with  a  lavish  hand. 
Its  fruit  upon  the  ground. 

And  from  the  +  school-house,  standing  near. 

On  every  pleasant  day  ; 

Went  merry  groups  of  children 

'Neath  its  branches  to  their  play. 

As  the  hours  passed,  they  plucked 

The  acorns  at  its  feet ; 

And  by  the  Winter  fire-side 

Thev  found  each  kernel  sweet. 


Through  my  mind  today,  sweet  streams 

Of  tender  memories  flow  ; 

As  back  again,  I  wander 

To  the  days  of  "  Long  Ago." 

At  school  with  other  scholars, 

Once  again  I  take  my  seat  : 

And  to  the  teacher,}?— patient  heart,— 

My  A.—  H.  —  C's.  repeat. 


The  1  :allcn    (Wi\  10 


I  gather  at  recess,  again 
Sweet  acorns  all  the  while. 
A  gilt  lor  her,  she  pays  me 
With  a  kind  word  and  a  smile. 
I'm  sure  the  many  she  has  led 
In  paths  of  learning  sweet  ; 
All  pray  that  violets  abloom, 
May  lie  beneath  her  feet. 

Those  happy  school-clays  now  are  o'er 
They  all  seem  like  a  dream  : 
As  with  my  bending  oars,    I  pull 
Life's  boat  against  the  stream. 
And  now  the  old  oak  too  is  gone  ; 
By  wind  to  earth  t'was  hurled  ; 
But  in  its  rude  and  silent  way. 
It  lived  to  bless  the  world. 

May  we,  too.  like  the  oaken  tree, 

Do  all  the  good  we  can  ; 

Let's  be  unselfish,  true  and  kind. 

And  help  our  brother  man. 

When  strangers  pass  the  gateway, 

To  the  "City  of  the  Dead," 

I  "pon  our  marble  head-stone, 

May  this  epitaph  be  read: 

EPITAPH. 


•    Tlit.'  S;iro  River. 

I   IJeneath  this  oak  tree  some  of  Saco's  earlv  settlers   were  buried. 

'',:  Where  the  Author  first  went  to  school. 

>:  Miss  Li/./ie  K.  (io\vdv — the  Author's  tirst  school-teacher. 


io8 


WARNED   OUT. 

I  saw  the  landlord,  Lizzie,  an'  he  told  me  \ve  must  go  ; 
When  I  asked  if  he'd  wait  longer  he  only  answered,  "  .V<?  /  ' 
I  promised  him  when  able  I'd  then  square  up  the  rent, 
I'd  pay  him  every  dollar  an'  he  wouldn't  lose  a  cent. 

I  told  him  you  were  feeble — how  you  had  to  lie  abed. 

But  I  guess  'twould  make  no  dif'rence  to  him  if  you  were  dead  : 

Don't  be  discouraged,  Lizzie,  for  God's  unfailin'  grace 

Has  led  us  safe  through  hardships  an'  He'll  help  us  find  a  place. 

This  old  house  'aint  a  palace  but  it's  better'n  none  at  all. 
Although  the  ceilin's  smokey  an'  the  paper's  off  the  wall  ; 
An'  we've  found  it  nice  in  Summer,  but  when  Winter  winds  would  roar 
The  cold  has  come  a'  stealin'  right  through  the  kitchen  floor. 

But  then  we've  been  contented  as  two  peas  in  a  pod  ; 

An'  each  day  through  the  moss-grown  roof  our  prayers  have  gone  to  God: 

An'  so  we've  both  been  happy,  our  love  has  stronger  grown, 

No  harsh  word  has  been  spoken  in  the  long  years  that  have  flown. 

It  was  in  this  very  room  here,  you  know  that  Autumn  day, 
How  we  consoled  each  other,  when  God  took  our  child  away  ; 
An'  as  I  gaze  up  yonder,  it  seems  from  out  the  blue 
I  can  see  our  darlin'  baby,  a'  beckonin'  me  an'  you. 

Our  hair  is  grovvin'  whiter  as  we  near  that  other  shore, 
But  somehow  it  is  sweeter  there  since  baby's  gone  before  ; 
We'd  best  be  thankful,  Lizzie,  for  this  sweet  tie  of  love. 
As  keeps  tuggin'  at  our  heartstrings  an'  drawin'  us  above. 

So  we're  warned  out  o'  the  old  house  : — I  expected  it  would  come — 
But  'tis  hard  when  we're  so  old,  to  be  driven  from  our  home  ; 
But  I'll  find  a  shelter  somewhere,  where  we  can  happy  be, 
An'  finish  our  life's  journey,  together,  you  an'  me. 

You  know  the  Bible,  Lizzie,  tells  of  "  Mansions  in  tin  Skv  " 

An'  if  below  we're  faithful,  we'll  go  there  by  an'  by, 

An'  we'll  meet  our  baby  dear  again,  beyond  the  shinin'  strands, 

An'  there  we'll  dwell  together,  in  ".•/  House  Xot  Made  \\'ith  Hands." 


I II 


ELEGY    WRITTEN    ON    LAUREL    HILL. 

[Dedicated  to  the  Memorv   of   Mother.] 

Birds  unto  their  mates  were  calling. 

The  bright  Autumn  leaves  were  falling, 
As  I  sat  by  mother's  grave  amid  the  trees  on  Laurel  Hill ; 

T'was  the  Sabbath  evening  hour. 

When  a  holy  unseen  power 
Seemed  to  hover  over  all  the  earth  and  move  my  heart  at  will. 

From  my  lips  deep  sighs  were  stealing, 

O'er  me  crept  a  saddened  feeling. 
And  the  thoughts  that  came  upon  me,  caused  my  lonely  heart  to  yearn  ; 

Memories  of  bright  days  came  thronging, — 

For  the  past  my  soul  was  longing — 
Hut  alas  !    I  wished  for  hours  that  would  never  more  return  ! 

Mingling  with  the  night-birds  singing, 
Came  the  sound  of  church-bells,  ringing, 

From  the  far-off  crowded  city,  calling  to  the  house  of  prayer  ; 
But  their  sweet  and  tuneful  numbers, 
Xe'er  could  waken  from  her  slumbers, 

She,  whose  lifeless  form  was  lying  in  the  grave  before  me  there. 

.She  was  true  to  every  duty. 

Lived  a  life  of  Christian  beauty  ; 
All  her  kindly  ministrations  to  the  world  will  ne'er  be  known  : 

As  the  stars  shone  brightly  o'er  me, 

And  the  past  came  up  before  me, 
My  great  loss  I  truly  reali/.ed,  as  I  sat  there  all  alone. 

I  shall  never  know  another, 

Like  my  dear  and  saintly  mother  : 
She  was  faithful  to  her  family,  to  her  neighbors,  to  her  God  ' 

Her  long  life  was  freely  given. 

For  our  welfare  she  had  striven. 
She  has  earned  the  Christian's  heritage — she  has  yone  to  her  reward. 


112  /:7<r;<^r    Written   on   Laurel  If  ill. 

vStretching  far  across  the  meadows. 

Deeper  grew  the  evening  shadows, 
In  the  western  sky,  above  the  "  Heights,"  the  moon  was  in  the  IKKVY  : 

All  along  the  quiet  river, 

Its  soft  beams  would  faintly  quiver, 
l*p  above  the  stars  were  shining — night  hung  over  all  below. 

Noiselessly,  above  the  sleeping. 

Like  some  ghostly  phantom  creeping. 

Fell  the  slanting,    dusky    shadows,    from    the    headstones    o'er    each 
mound  ; 

While  beneath  night's  curtain  sombre, 

The  great  world  seemed  wrapped  in  slumber, 
Over  all  the  Autumn  landscape  reigned  a  solitude  profound. 

Mother,  as  your  grave  I'm  leaving 

My  sad  heart  for  you  is  grieving  ; 
Though  you've  passed  away,  your  memory  is  precious  to  me  still  : 

When  upon  my  deathbed  lying, 

When  friends  whisper,  "  He  is  dying," 
May  I  sleep  in  peace  beside  you,  'neath  the  trees  on  Laurel  Hill. 


MRS.    OLIVE    TOWAKI). 


A    BIRTHDAY    GREETING. 

[Written  for,  and  read  hv  the  children  of  Mrs.  Olive  Toward  of  Dexter,  Maine, 
in  honor  of  her  eightieth  hirthdav.  April  2isr.  189^,  and  respecttullv  dedicated  to 
her  h\  the  author.  ] 

Again  we  clasp  our  mother's  hand. 
Her  form  once  more  \ve  greet : 
As  with  joyful  hearts,  we  lay 
Love's  tribute  at  her  feet. 
Her  face  so  full  of  tenderness. 
Though  marked  by  lines  of  care  ; 
Has  grown  more  beautiful  with  age. 
And  love  still  watches  there. 

We  see  again  the  cheerful  smile ; 
Her  eyes  bespeak  love's  power  ; 
Her  voice  is  just  as  sweet  today. 
As  'twas  in  childhood's  hour. 
The  wrinkles  on  her  placid  brow, 
The  hair  of  silver  gray  : 
Are  traces  of  the  mile-stones  passed. 
Along  life's  rugged  way. 

In  memory,  we  go  back  again 

To  happy  hours  of  youth  : 

When  by  her  chair,  we  first  were  taught 

The  laws  of  sacred  truth. 

This  world  is  rich  in  gems  of  thought, 

From  many  a  master's  pen  ; 

Hut  mother's  love  does  more  than  these. 

To  make  us  better  men. 

We  treasure  all  her  kindly  acts  ; 

We  feel  their  influence  yet 

The  golden  lessons  she  taught  us, 

We  never  can  forget. 

They  serve  to  cheer  us  on  life's  way  : 

They  make  our  paths  more  bright ; 

And  in  temptation's  darkest  hour. 

Lead  us  to  the  right. 


A   Hirthday    (i  reeling.  115 

\Ve  gather  'round  the  family  hearth, 

In  our  accustomed  place; 

Hut  ah  !  the  circle  is  incomplete  ; 

We  miss  the  father's  face. 

The  one  who  shared  her  earthly  joys. 

Her  hopes,  her  cares  and  fears, 

Has  long  since  crossed  the  golden  strand, 

Heyond  earth's  vale  of  tears. 

'Tis  but  a  few  more  weary  years, 
Of  mingled  joy  and  pain; 
A  few  more  shadows,  dim  and  gray, 
We'll  meet  our  loved  again. 
Heyond  the  blue  there  is  no  night  ; 
The  heart  is  free  from  care  ; 
The  pilgrim  enters  into  rest, 
'Tis  joy  forever  there. 

Then  trust  on,  faithful  soul,  trust  on  ! 
You've  sowed  the  golden  grain  ; 
'Twill  live  for  aye  in  other  hearts — 
You  have  not  lived  in  vain. 
We  give  a  sympathetic  tear. 
A  kindly  word  let  fall ; 
We  cannot  estimate  the  good 
We've  done, /fit/  (iod  knows  all . 

His  wisdom  is  above  the  earth  ; 

He  marks  the  sparrow's  fall  ; 

He  knows  our  every  want  and  need; 

He  hears  our  every  call. 

And  when  life's  journey  here  is  o'er. 

He'll  take  us  to  His  breast, 

We'll  hear  these  welcome  words,  "  M'ell  Hone, 

Enjov  the  Christians  rest !  " 


n6 


LESSONS     FROM     NATURE. 

The  foam-crested  ocean,  the-  sleep  rushed  mountains. 

The  forest,  the  streamlet,  the  clear  crystal  spring  ; 

The  fragrant  wild-flower  that  blooms  in  the  meadow. 

The  music  we  hear,  as  the  happy  birds  sing. 

The  sun  and  the  moon,  the  bright  stars  of  evening, 

The  sky  overhead,  with  its  limitless  space; 

All  these  are  the  mirrors,  in  which  are  reflected, 

Fair  Nature,  arrayed  in  her  beauty  and  grace. 

Could  the  human  heart  study  the  lessons  of  Nature, 

T'would  inspire  the  mind  with  thoughts  pure  and  right  ; 

\Ve  may  learn  of  God's  grace  in  the  flowers  and  sunshine 

His  wisdom  behold  in  the  stars  of  the  night. 

The  rainbow  that  spans  the  blue  arch  of  the  heavens. 

Reminds  us  again  of  His  Infinite  love  ; 

The  beauties  of  earth  are  to  man,  but  the  emblem 

Of  those  that  await  him  in  heaven  above. 


NEVER    WISH     YOUR    TIME    AWAY. 

Over  a  cradle  at  close  of  day, 

A  fond  young  mother  stood  ; 

"Watching  her  infant  as  it  safely  lay, 

(As  only  a  mother  could.) 

"  I  wonder,"  she  mused,  as  she  stood  there  alone, 

And  a  smile  crept  over  her  face  ; 

"  11  baby's  life  will  be  pleasant  as  mine;" 

And  she  tried  its  future  to  trace. 

Twelve  years  have  passed  and  we  see  them  again, 

Though  the  mother  is  growing  old  ; 

But  the  baby  we  saw  is  quite  a  young  miss  ; 

Her  long  hair  like  threads  of  gold. 

"  I  wish  I  was  older,"  the  little  girl  said, 

"  So  I  could  dress  even-  day  in  my  best ; 

And  be  a  young  lady,  go  shopping  alone, 

Like  the  Kareweather  girls  and  the  rest  !" 

O'er  her  mother's  face  came  a  look  as  of  pain  ; 

The  silent  tears  stole  down  her  cheek  ; 

Her  sweet  voice  almost  choked  with  sobs, 

As  she  spoke  so  gentle  and  meek. 

"My  daughter,  when  you  are  as  old  as  I, 

You'll  sadly  look  back  to  the  day  ; 

And  think  to  yourself,  "  How  foolish  I've  been 

To  wish  my  time  away." 

Twenty  more  years  have  passed  away, 

And  we  see  by  the  bright  cottage  door 

The  mother  and  daughter,  but  who  are  the  rest? 

For  beside  them  are  standing  two  more  ! 

One  is  a  pleasant-faced,  middle-aged  man, 

A  bright  little  lad  by  his  side; 

Ah !  now  I  can  see,  it  is  all  plain  to  me. 

The  maiden  has  long  been  a  bride. 


Never    ll'is/i    Your    Time  Au'ay. 

Mother,  daughter,  husband  and  son. 

Presented  a  beautiful  group; 

But  grandmother's  face  looked  sweeter  by  far. 

Though  her  shoulders  were  beginning  to  stoop 

Her  once  golden  hair  is  now  turned  to  gray  ; 

The  sands  of  life  nearly  are  run  : 

Each  wrinkle  bold  time  has  made  on  her  brow, 

But  tells  us  her  life  is  most  done. 

A  few  more  years,  there  is  one  vacant  chair. 

The  patient  old  face  is  no  more  ; 

For  grandma  has  long  since  been  called  from  earth's  scenes 

To  a  home  on  the  heavenly  shore. 

We  enter  the  home  once  more  and  we  see, 

A  tall  handsome  youth  by  the  chair 

Of  an  old  gray-haired  lady  of  three  score-and-three  : 

Who  once  was  so  young  and  so  fair. 

Who'd  believe  she  once  teas  the  babv  7<y  s a -«.'.' 

The  young  mother  standing  by— 

It  is  a  sad  truth  !     Ah  !   life  is  so  short ! 

Let's  remember  we've  all  got  to  die  ! 

There  are  just  sixty  seconds  in  one  golden  minute  : 

Sixty  minutes  in  one  golden  hour; 

The  years  are  fast  fleeting,  let's  throw  way  the  thorns, 

And  gather  each  beautiful  flower. 

Let  us  fill  all  the  seconds  and  minutes  of  ours. 

In  aiding  the  poor  and  oppressed  : 

Let  us  never  stand  idle  but  do  all  we  can. 

For  as  workers  we  all  will  be  blest. 

Then  when  we  are  tempted,  as  sometimes  we  are. 

And  long  for  the  close  of  the  day; 

Let  us  think  how  short  the  longest  life  is. 

And  never  icish  time  passed  away  ! 


MY    OLD    MOUNTAIN   HOME. 

I've  been  through  the  palace,  I've  seen  crystal  fountains, 
I've  heard  the  low  music  of  pleasures  sweet  strain; 
Hut  it  cannot  compare  with  my  home  in  the  mountains, 

0  give  me  the  scenes  of  my  childhood  again. 

How  often  I've  sat  near  the  old-fashioned  portal. 

And  watched  the  bright  sun  sink  away  'neath  the  hill  : 

And  olten  I  think  of  my  dear  aged  mother, 

Whose  smiles  all  these  years  have  been  haunting  me  still. 

In  my  dreams  I  go  back  to  the  old  fashioned  homestead, 
And  roam  once  again  o'er  the  meadows  so  green  : 
Or  gather  the  berries  that  grow  in  the  woodland. 
Or  sit  by  the  banks  of  the  clear  running  stream. 

How  pleasant  it  was,  when  the  day's  work  was  over. 
The  evening  shadows  were  fast  coming  on. 
To  sit  'round  the  organ  in  one  family  circle, 
And  all  of  our  voices  were  blended  in  song. 

Those  old  happy  moments  have  passed  by  forever  ; 
And  all  of  the  dear  ones  have  gone  on  before; 
Hut  still  in  my  dreams  they  are  hovering  near  me. 
And  beckoning  me  to  that  beautiful  shore. 

1  love  the  old  homestead,  with  all  of  its  memories. 
And  never  a  pleasanter  place  shall  I  see  ; 

Until  I  join  hands  with  the  dear  ones  in  heaven. 
Then  that  is  ill  be  siceeterthan  all  else  to  me .' 


I2O 


AN     AUTUMN     RAIN. 

Dismally  the  east  winds  shriek. 
The  earth  is  dreary  cold  and  bleak  : 

The  clouds  are  dull  and  gray. 
While  all  deserted  seems  the  town, 

And  cheerless  is  the  day. 

Against  the  trees  the  strong  winds  beat. 
And  partly  burying  lane  and  street  : 
The  leaves  fall  to  the  ground. 

In  dizzy,  zigzag,  circling  way, 

As  snow-flakes  whirl  around. 

Upon  the  roof  and  window  pane. 
Ever  unwearied,  drives  the  rain. 

Through  the  whole  day  long  : 
Drip,  drip,  drip  and  pitter,  patter. 

Its  never-changing  song. 

Some  lives  are  full  of  rainy  days. 

Dark  clouds  obscure  the  sun's  bright  rays 

Our  hopes,  like  dead  leaves,  fall. 
Vet,  come  what  will,  keep  trusting  on. 

For  (iod  is  over  all  ! 


121 


PUSH     WILL    WIN. 

Is  your  daily  task  a  burden, 

As  you  struggle  on   in  life? 

Do  you  have  less  joy  and  sunshine:* 

More  of  sorrow  and  of  strife? 

Do  you  have  more  rugged  climbing 

Than  of  going  dotc/i  the  hill? 

As  the  days  are  swiftly  passing. 

Does  "  Life's  "  way  seem  rougher  still  ? 

If  so,  this  should  be  your  motto, 
Cheering  you  in  your  distress  : 
"  (  'picard  and  forever  omcard , 
Karnest  labor  brim. 


Have  in  life  some  great  ambition, 
Banish  every  thought  of  dread ; 
\Yiih  determined  will  and  purpose, 
Looking  upward — inarch  ahead ! 

He  not  easily  discouraged, 
}  on  can  nci'O'  aim  too  liigh  ! 
/•'d/-  a  bore  the  throng  about  YOU, 
J^Iace  voitr  star  of  ctcstinv. 

Some  may  sneer  at  your  endeavors, 
—  Heed  them  not !  —  Press  onward  still 
Hear  in  mind  the  old-time  maxim, 
"  /'"oo/s  innst  talk  and  talk  fhcv  :r///!  " 

Life  must  surely  prove  successful, 
II  with  "/'HS/I"  and  "  1-^.nergv  "  ! 
\Ye  but  strive  for  high  attainments. 
Persevere  from  dav  to  dav. 


122  rush    //"///    Win. 

Fill  the  hours  with  noble  actions, 
As  they  glide  by  one  by  one  ; 
That  you  may  look  back  with  pleasure 
On  the  da>'  just  past  and  gone. 

If  you're  timid,  then  remember 
1  rue  success  is  not  a  crime  ' 
It  is  vour* s  if  von  <»'///  hair  it, 
"  Push  "  u'ill  ic in  it  crcrv  time. 


12 


LINES     TO     A     FADED     FLOWER, 

You  were  once  a  lovely  flower, 
Growing-  'nea1.li  the  summer  sky  ; 
Now  your  glory  has  departed. 
Nevermore  to  greet  the  eye. 

Clothed  in  rich  and  varied  beauty, 
Von  were  fair  as  brightest  gem  ; 
Filling  all  the  air  with  fragrance, 
K'er  I  plucked  you  from  your  stem. 

You  are  now  a  faded  flower, 
Dried  and  crumpled  is  each  leaf ; 
But  you  teach  mankind  a  lesson, 
By  your  life,  so  pure,  though  brief. 

We  may  learn  of  you,  sweet  flower, 
Lessons  simple,  true  and  plain  : 
Learn  to  live,  like  you,  for  others. — 
Such  a  life  is  not  in  vain. 

Time  is  short,  O  gracious  flower, 
Days  are  passing  swiftly  by  ; 
Our  life's  stem  will  soon  be  broken, 
\Ve.  like  you.  must  fade  and  die. 

May  we.  like  you.  fragrant  flower. 
Spread  sweet  happiness  around  ; 
Then,  our  rest  will  be  the  sweeter, 
When  death's  night  brings  peace  profound. 


I24 


HOPE'S    SWEET    SONG. 

A  holy  stillness  filled  the  air. 

All  peaceful  \vas  the  summer  clay  ; 

When  suddenly  a  storm  arose, 

"Dark  clouds  obscured  the  sun's  bright  ray.' 

The  once  fair  earth  became  so  changed, 

That  all  seemed  dreary  as  the  tomb;  — 

Just  so,  in  life's  most  happy  hours. 

Deep  sorrows  cast  a  sudden  gloom. 

Could  \ve  but  give  a  pleasant  smile. 

Or  speak  a  cheering  word  each  day : 

T' would  fill  the  Pilgrim's  heart  with  hope. 

And  help  him  on  in  life's  rough  way. 

Then  when  his  courage  seems  to  fail. 

Instead  of  yielding  to  despair; 

He  would — remembering  your  kind  words  — 

Keep  pressing  on — nor  falter  there. 

A  kind  word  dropped  unconsciously, 
May  save  a  brother  e're  he  fall ; 
We  cannot  tell  the  good  we  do, 
But  God  the  Father  knows  it  all. 
Then  when  the  way  grows  sad  and  dark. 
Still  let  us  sing  "  Hope's"  lofty  strain  : 
That  some  poor  weary,  care-worn  soul, 
Mav  hear  it  and  take  heart  again. 


125 


A    MAN'S    ANSWER. 

[In  replv  to  Adelaide  A.  Proctor's  poem  "A  Woman's  (.Question."] 

Aye,  tliou  can'st  "  trust  thy  fate  to  me,  " 
And  "  place  thy  hand  in  mine  ;" 
Fear  not,  but  "let  my  future,  give 
Color  and  form  to  thine.  " 
I  answer  that  thou  askest  me, 
By  offering  my  heart  to  thee. 

\Ve  cannot  know  true  happiness. 

Life's  pure  joys  depart — 

Unless  it  is  loves  golden  link. 

That  binds  us,  heart  to  heart. 

And  so,  dear  one,  >nv  "  faith  is  free,  " 

As  that  which  "thou  do'st  pledge  to  me." 

This  world,  its  richest  joys  may  give. 
Bright  smiles  of  friendship  gleam  ; 
Though  visions  clear  and  beautiful, 
Come  with  each  nightly  dream. 
Could  I  not  "  feel  thy  quickening  breath; " 
My  life  would  seem  "  a  living  death." 

Xay  !  I  have  "kept  no  portion  back," 

My  all  to  thee  I  give  ; 

My  every  thought  on  thee  is  fixed. 

For  thee  alone  I  live. 

A  true  heart  is  the  gift  of  God, 

T'is  given  thee  as  thy  reward. 

My  every  want  and  need  in  life, 

I  know  thou  can'st  fulfill  ; 

"  Xo  chord  lies  hidden  in  my  heart," 

But  "thou  can'st  wake,  or  still.  " 

Without  thy  smile  to  cheer  each  day, 

Mv  life  would  "  wither  and  decay.' 


126  A  Man's  Answer. 

I  speak  from  out  my  inmost  heart. 
Then  do  not  think  it  strange  : 
That  I  should  offer  you  a  love, 
Which  cannot  die  or  change. 
For  thou,  the  noblest  soul  that  lives. 
Art  worthy  all  true  manhood  gives  ! 

It  cannot  be  "today's  mistake" 

Nor  yet  is  ' '  fate  to  blame  ' ' 

For  did  not  God  ordain  all  things  ? 

He  knows  our  every  name. 

And  in  His  wisdom,  God  above, 

First  taught  mankind  the  way  to  love. 

Then  as  God  wills,  so  may  we  live. 
Nor  from  His  ways  depart: 
But  ever  let  the  cords  of  love. 
Unite  us,  heart  to  heart. 
Remembering,  God  our  love  has  given. 
And  that  our  vows  are  blest  of  Heaven. 


12' 


THE   BRIDGE    ABOVE    THE     FALLS. 

'Tis  a  dreamy  summer  morning, 

Near  the  bridge  that  spans  the  river ; 
I  stand  watching  throngs  of  people,  passing  and  re -passing  there. 

And  how  varied  the  expression 

On  the  many  different  faces, 
Some  are  smiling,  bright  and  happy,  others  marked  by  lines  of  care. 

See  yon  gray-haired  man  approaching  ; 

With  the  weight  of  years  upon  him; 
Head  in  meditation  bowed,  perhaps  sad  thoughts  his  mind  recalls  ; 

Of  the  Past  he  may  be  thinking, 

Thinking  of  the  long-lost  loved  ones; 
As  he  crosses  o'er  the  river,  on  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

Listen  to  the  hearty  laughter, 

Sounding  like  the  rippling  waters 
As  they  dance  along  in  gladness,  over  pebble-bottomed  streams  ; 

'Tis  the  laugh  of  merry  maidens — 

One  holds  in  her  hand  a  letter — 

In  her  winsome,  sparkling  blue  eyes,  see  the  tenderest  love-light 
gleams. 

'Tis  a  message  she  is  reading 

From  her  far-off  absent  lover, 
With  every  line,  his  manly  face,  her  glad  young  heart  recalls; 

She  hears  in  the  gentle  xephers, 

Whispers  of  a  happy  future; 
As  she  crosses  o'er  the  river,  on  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

Here's  a  groupe  of  joyous  children, 

Scan  with  me  each  boyish  feature ; 
Who  can  tell  their  future  station,  when  they've  grown  to  man's  estate  ? 

Careless  now  perhaps  and  noisy, 

Filling  all  the  days  with  pleasure  ; 
Vet  among  their  number  may  ^future  Statesmen  good  and  ^  real .' 

To  the  Legislative  Chambers, 

Men  of  humble  birth  have  risen  ; 


128  The  ttridoc  Above  the  Falls. 

Guarding  well  their  country's  honor  where  oppression's  power 
enthralls; 

So  the  loud  tumultuous  laughter 

Sounds  to  me  like  gladsome  music; 
As  with  light  hearts  they  go  tripping  o'er  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

Now  a  tiny  carriage  passes, 

In  it  lies  a  precious  burden  ; 
It  contains  a  darling  baby,  sweetly  beautiful  and  lair  ; 

Nestling  on  its  downy  cushion. 

Peacefully,  the  infant  resting  ; 
Pure  as  an  Easter  Lilly,  Innocence  lies  sleeping  there  I 

Entering  this  world  of  sorrow 

Like  a  ray  of  golden  sunlight  ; 

Skin  of  softest,  pinky  whiteness,  cheeks  as  lovely  as  a  doll's  ; 

And  that  old  scene  came  before  me 

Of  Christ  blessing  little  children  ; 
As  I  saw  the  sleeping  infant,  on  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

See  this  aged,  wrinkled  woman. 

Crowned  with  hair  of  silvery  whiteness; 
Her  sad  face  is  thin  and  care-worn — her  dark  dress  of  mourning  weeds  : 

Seems  to  tell  the  tender  story 

Of  the  dear  ones  gone  before  her  ; 
Gathered  safe  within  the  Home-land,  free  from  earthly  care  and  needs. 

Bowed  with  years  of  toil  and  sorrow, 

She  is  someone's  precious  mother  ; 
She  reminds  me  of  the  one  I  lost  tchom  inemorv  oft  recalls  ; 

Slowly — feebly — passing  onward . 

Let  us  pay  her  manly  tribute  ; 
As  she  crosses  o'er  the  river,  on  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

Young  and  old — the  rich — the  lowly 

Light  and  gay — the  heavy-hearted — 
Thus  it  is  from  early  morning,  to  the  setting  of  the  sun  : 

Laborers  and  men  of  leisure 

In  a  constant  stream  are  passing  ; 
On  the  heavy-timbered  flooring,  falls  the  footsteps  one  by  one. 

But  there's  one  whose  well-loved  features, 

I  miss  in  the  throng  of  people  : 


129 


The  It  ridge  Above  the  Falls. 


129 


One  whose  precious  soul  but  lately  burst  its  earthly  prison  walls  ; 

Dear  old  father  who  so  often , 

M'hen  in  life  and  health  and  vigor ; 
(  'scd  to  cross  this  verv  river,  on  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

Ah !  how  many  of  the  number 

Who  went  o'er  the  old  bridge  daily  ; 
To  that  sleep  which  knows  no  wakening,  have  been  gathered  one  by  one! 

On  the  street — in  church  and  household, 

We  miss  dear,  familiar  faces  ; 
Friends  whose  cordial,  kindly  greeting,  the  hearts  true  devotion  won. 

Newer  generations  follow, 

Closely  in  another's  footsteps  : 
Time  flies  onward — Oh  so  swiftly — Oft  the  thought  one's  heart  appalls! 

We  must  all  sooner  or  later, 

Lay  life's  work  aside  forever; 
Sometime  we'll  make  our  last  journey  o'er  the  bridge  above  the  Faffs. 


1 3D 


JIM'S    ORDER- 

This  morning,  sir,  my  mother  died. 

vShe  passed  away  at  one  ; 

Her  heart  has  no\v  ceased  beating. 

Her  long  sweet  life  is  done. 

And  here,  sir,  is  my  order, 

For  a  casket,  your  very  best  ; 

I  want  it  made  of  redwood. 

And  then  in  broadcloth  dressed. 

And  have  it  nicely  finished, 

With  a  silver  plate  embossed  : 

Your  best  is  not  a  bit  too  good, 

For  the  precious  one  I've  lost. 

Get  handles  of  pure  silver, 

And  place  them  on  either  side  : 

For  I  love  her  more  than  ever, 

She's  dearer  since  she  died. 

Be  sure  and  line  the  sides,   sir, 

With  lace  as  white  as  snow  ; 

What  I'm  doing  lor  her,  today. 

She  would  do  for  me,  I  know. 

And  then  I  want  the  pillow. 

On  which  her  head  is  laid  ; 

So  t'will  compare  with  all  the  rest, 

Of  soft  material  made. 

And  when  you  lay  her  in  it, 

Make  her  look  the  best  you  can  ; 

vSo  folks  will  say  "  I  low  beautiful '  " 

As  her  dear  old  face  they  scan. 

However  well  the  casket  is, 

Though  jewels  gleam  within  : 

It  never  can  compare,  with   what 

Her  loveliness  has  been. 

Oh  sir,  my  heart  seems  breaking. 

When  I  think  of  her  last  night: 

How  I  held  her  in  these  arms  of  mine, 

To  make  her  breathing  light. 


/tin's    Order. 

Her  weary  head  fell  over, 
And  rested  on  my  breast; 
Here  her  farewell  words  were  spoken, 

1C 're  she  closed  her  eyes  to  rest. 

*  #»#### 

And  now  her  life  is  finished, 
Her  spirit  is  with  God  ; 
And  soon  her  precious  body. 
Von  will  place  beneath  the  sod. 
Don't  mind  about  the  cost,  sir. 
For  my  mother,  old  and  true, 
Shall  have  tlie  finest  bit  rial ', 
Tis  all  tli at  I  can  do  ! 


1 .11 


132 


MOTHER. 

Horn  April  2$th  1832 — -Died  August  2oth   1896. 

True,  unselfish,  faithful,  loving, 
Feeling  always  for  another  ; 
Sympathetic  and  forgiving. 
This  is  what  I  found  in — Mother. 


'33 


EXCEPT    IN    AUGUST. 

In  every  \valk  of  life  we  meet. 
With  people  who  to  us  seem  strange  ; 
They  claim  to  love  religious  things, — 
Their  principals  seem  not  to  change, 
Except — in  August! 

They  know  Christianity  is  good, 
They  think  church-work  is  truly  grand  : 
Beneath  the  banner  of  the  cross. 
You'll  see  them  take  a  valliant  stand. 
Except — in  August! 

They  lend  their  aid  to  everything 
That  is  of  benefit  to  man  ; 
They  read  their  bible,  talk  and  pray, 
They  do  just  all  the  good  they  can. 

Except — in  August! 

The  poor  weak  drunkard,  too,  they  love. 
They  think  of  his  wife's  scalding  tear; 
To  save  him  from  his  deep  disgrace, 
They  gladly  work  throughout  the  year. 
Except — in  August! 

They  love  to  visit  the  distressed, 
Attend  the  sick  with  watchful  care  ; 
Each  duty,  quickly  they  discern, 
And  of  kind  actions  do  their  share. 

Except — in  August] 

The  church  is  filled  each  sabbath  morn. 
With  noble  Christians,  tried  and  true  ; 
And  glancing  o'er  the  crowded  room, 
One  cannot  see  an  empty  pew, 

Except — in  August! 


134'  l\,\ccpi  in   August. 

The  Kvil-spirit  is  at  work. 

His  plans  and  schemes  are  very  queer  ; 

And  to  accomplish  his  defeat. 

The  church  must  labor  all  the  year. 

I HC  In  ding — .  /  iig  it  st! 

What  though  the  summer  sun  be  hot, 
Kach  one  should  do  his  duty  still  ; 
As  Christians,  all  must  watch  and  pray.— 
Work  with  an  earnest  heart  and  will, 
Each  week — each  month —  yes.  all  flic  rear: 
Including — August ! 


THE    MOUNTAINS. 

The  mountains  are  God's  monuments, 

They  point  to  Heaven  above  ; 

Telling'  of  His  wondrous  grace. 

Reminders  of  His  love. 

And  like  those  massive  granite  hills. 

His  love  can  never  die  ; 

Tis  reflected  on  the  mountain  side, 

On  earth  and  sea  and  skv. 


136 


WHERE  MOTHER  IS  'TIS  "HOME  SWEET  HOME. 

Written  the  year  before  Mother's  death.  1895. 

Many  thoughts  of  tender  beauty, 

In  the  ages  that  are  past, 

Have  been  written  'neath  the  skies  blue  vaulted  dome  ; 

Songs  of  Nature,  Love  and  Heaven, 

But  the  sweetest  of  them  all, 

Are  the  songs  that  tell  of  Mother  and  of  Home. 

Through-out  life's  toilsome  journey. 

Temptations  oft  beset, 

Our  pathway,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave ; 

It  is  in  that  trying  hour. 

That  we  need  a  mother's  love. 

For  a  mother's  love  is  strong  to  help  and  save. 

You  may  search  the  wide  world  over. 

And  rare  beauties  you  may  find, 

As  fair  and  bright  as  evening  stars  above; 

But  like  every  earthly  pleasure, 

All  is  vanity  and  dross, 

You'll  find  nothing  that  can  equal  mother's  love. 

Who  is  the  tireless  watcher  ? 

Who  sits  the  long  night  through  ? 

And  bends  above  her  child  so  young  and  fair  ? 

And  although  her  eyes  are  weary. 

She  refuses  sleep's  embrace, 

Ah!  you'll  find  it  is  a  mother  watching  there  ! 

You  may  never  know  another. 

Who  to  you  will  be  so  kind, 

As  the  dear  and  loving  one  who  gave  you  birth  : 

She's  the  sharer  of  your  sorrows, 

Of  your  hopes,  your  joys  and  fears. 

She's  the  dearest  friend  you'll  ever  have  on  earth. 

"  There's  no  /ionic  like  a   mother's" 

The  dear  old  motto  reads. 


]  I '/i  crc  Mot)i('r  is   ''/'is    "Home  .S'rrcv/  Home."  13 

You'll  find  it  true  as  through  the  world  you  roam  . 

Then  protect,  love  and  defend  her. 

For  you  soon  may  see  the  day. 

When  you  will  not  have  a  mother  and  a  home. 

In  sickness  or  in  health, 

In  poverty  or  wealth. 

You'll  find  this  maxim  true  where'ere  you  roam  ; 

Though  your  dwelling  be  a  palace, 

A  humble  cot,  or  hovel, 

If  tis  graced  by  mother's  presence,  it  is    "Home  Sicct't  Home." 


CHARITY. 

If  some  poor  weak  brother,  stumbles,  falls. 
Do  not  stand  and  laugh  to  cause  him  pain  : 
Hut  rather  go  to  him  in  "('//<?;-//]'." 
And  when  he  sees  you  care  for  him. 
He'll  strive  to  be  a  man  again. 


'4' 


THE    BEACON     OF    WOOD    ISLE. 

[To  niv   friend    Mrs.  A.  B.  Blanchard,  Biddeford,  Maine.] 

\()TK. — Wood  Island  is  one  of  several  islands  in  Sato  Hav  and  lies  just  oft  the 
entrance  of  the  River  Saco.  It  is  about  eight  hundred  vards  in  length, 
nearly  covered  with  trees  and  in  plain  view  from  Biddeford  Pool.  Ferrv 
Beach.  Old  Orchard  Beach,  Front's  Xeck  and  Cape  Kli/aheth.  On  the 
eastern  end  of  the  Island  is  Wood  Island  Light  House.  The  tower,  which 
is  connected  with  the  keeper's  dwelling,  is  forty-seven  feet  high  and  its 
revolving  red  light  flashes  everv  minute.  The  light  is  sixtv-two  feet  ahove 
the  level  of  the  ocean  and  mav  he  seen  for  a  distance  of  thirteen  miles. 

— United  States  Coast  Survey. 

The  lighthouse  on  the  Wooded  Isle, 
Like  a  sentinel  lifts  its  tall  gray  form  : 
Through  changing  years,  the  massive  frame 
Has  breasted  wind  and  storm. 

When  'round  it  shrieks  the  wintry  blast. 
Rude  hurricanes,  its  walls  assail  : 
Unmoved  it  stands,  nor  bows  before 
The  fury  of  the  gale. 

Its  ponderous,  towering  shaft  by  day. 
May  seem  ungraceful  to  the  eye  ; 
But  ah  !   As  night's  dark  shadows  fall. 
And  starless  is  the  sky, 

When  over  all  the  land  and  sea, 
Is  heard  the  tempest's  sullen  roar  ; 
The  fierce  and  angry  billows,  dash 
Upon  the  rock-bound  shore. 

'Tis  then  its  usefulness  is  felt ; 
The  sailor,  ever  watchful,  brave  : 
With  joyful  heart  beholds  the  light 
That  gleams  across  the  wave. 

Hy  its  bright  rays,  his  ship,  he  guides. 
Past  where  the  hidden  dangers  lay  : 
And  grateful  for  the  warning  given 
Pursues  his  onward  wav. 


142  The  Beacon   of  Wood  Isle. 

Thus  nightly,  through  the  passing  years, 
The  Island  Beacon  faithfully 
Illumes  the  sailor's  dreary  course 
Upon  the  trackless  sea. 

But  where  would  be  its  usefulness. 
Or  where  the  Beacon's  wondrous  power  : 
Without  the  hand  that  feeds  the  flame 
Flashing  from  you  gray  tower  ? 

Oft  up  the  narrow  winding  stairs. 
The  keeper  of  the  light  must  go  ; 
He  ceases  not  his  faithful  watch, 
Nor  lets  the  lamp  burn  low. 

May  \ve  not  in  the  lighthouse,  find 
A  useful  lesson  there  in  store  ? 
Beside  life's  restless  sea,  are  we  not 
Lights  along  the  shore  ? 

We  too,  would  useless  be  and  weak. 
If  it  were  not  for  higher  ^pwers  ; 
Life's  fame  can  only  be  sustained 
By  mightier  will  than  ours. 

With  rays  of  kindly  love,  'tis  ours 
To  cheer  some  poor  discouraged  soul : 
To  help  dispel  the  deeper  gloom 
Where  waves  of  sorrow  roll. 

Withholding  not  the  friendly  hand, 
Tis  ours  the  erring  to  forgive  ; 
And  by  example,  teach  mankind 
The  better  way  to  live. 

Life's  mighty  tower  is  Character, 
(Pure,  spotless,  upright,  free  from  blame) 
Intelligence  our  surest  lamp, 
True  Knowledge  is  the  flame. 

The  world's  best  thought  we  may  possess, 
Through  it  life's  joy  one  truly  finds; 
T'is  our  great  previlege  to  be 
.  /  light  to  other  minds. 


The  />ca(  on  of    \\'ood  Isle. 

And  so  may  we,  while  life  remains 
Make  brighter  every  passing  da)'  ; 
And  if  perchance,  from  our  faint  lamp 
There  falls  some  slanting  ray. 

Across  a  toiling  brother's  path. 
Less  strong  than  \ve  and  weaker  willed  , 
If  thus  we've  helped  him — Then  is  life's 
Most  cherished  wish  fulfilled. 


1 13 


'44 


A     MAN    CAN     BE    HONEST    THOUGH     POOR. 

On  a  cold  winter's  day.  through  the  deep-drifted  snow, 

A  beggar  was  wandering  the  street  ; 

He  was  ragged  and  weary,  he'd  no  place  to  go, 

He  was  longing  for  something  to  eat. 

He  had  tried  to  get  food  nearly  all  the  day  long. 

But  they  turned  him  away  from  their  door  : 

And  he  rather  would  die  of  starvation  than  steal. 

He  was  honest,  although  he  was  poor. 

His  heart  nigh  discouraged,  he  wended  his  way 

Unheeded  by  young  or  the  old  : 

When  a  wonderful  sight  met  the  poor  beggar's  eyes. 

OH  the  snoic  lav  a  purse  filled  icith  gold. 

The  tempter  said,  "Keep  it,  you're  hungry,  you  know. 

For  the  rich  man  has  enough  more  :" 

But  the  beggar  said,    "Xo!  the  right  owner  I'll  find. 

/'//  be  honest,  although  I  am  poor!" 

The  keen  pangs  of  hunger   still  gnawed  at  his   breast  : 

How  he  longed  for  a  mouthful  of  bread  : 

But  they  turned  him  away,  tlio'  Vuv/.v  for  Hie  last  time. 

'Kre  the  morning  this  beggar  was  dead. 

With  naught  but  the  stars  to  watch  over  him. 

He  had  passed  to  that  beautiful   shore  : 

Where  the  angels,  with  hearts  full  of  love  r. -eleomed  home 

This  beggar,  although  he  u'asfioor? 


145 


GLAD    DAYS    OF    SPRING. 

When  at  last  earth  is  free  from  the  chill  Winter's  gloom. 
Then  the  joy-laden  Spring  days  we  cheerfully  hail : 
With  willing  hearts  welcome  the  flowers  that  bloom, 
On  mountain  and  hillside,  in  forest  and  vale. 

Touched  by  the  warm  sunlight  and  slow-falling  showers. 
Each  flowering  shrub  with  a  new  life  grows  fair  ; 
What  with  odorous  Pine,  Violet  and  Mayflower, 
There's  a  fragrance  delicious  pervading  the  air  ! 

From  out  the  blue  depths  of  the  soft  April  sky. 
Delightful  bird  music  is  wafted  belo\v  ; 
There's  a  charm  in  the  landscape,  which  pleases  the  eye, 
There  are  unalloyed  pleasures  whereever  we  go. 

In  the  cool  Alder-shade,  'neath  green  pasture  hill, 
Unfettered  and  free  runs  the  deep  narrow  stream  ; 
Past  the  motionless  wheel  of  the  old  unused  mill, 
Its  waters  reflecting  the  sun's  lurid  gleam. 

As  a-field,  with  his  ploughshare,  the  gray  farmer  goes. 
Right  well  knoweth  he  'tis  seed-time  of  the  year  : 
These,  to  him,  are  the  days  when  life's  cup  overflows, 
With  unspeakable  joy,  calm,  contentment  and  cheer. 

The  upper  air  cleaving,  on  tireless  wing. 
Nature's  wee  feathered  songsters  are  hopeful  and  glad  ; 
When  earth  is  aglow  with  the  freshness  of  Spring, 
Ah  !  how  can  the  bosom  of  mortal  be  sad  ? 


r46 


SHIP    ON    THE    RESTLESS    SEA. 

Leaving  the  Port  for  a  far-off  land, 
vSailing  away  o'er  the  billows  grand  ; 
The  good  ship,  moving  gracefully, 
Seems  a  thing  of  life  on  the  deep,  blue  sea. 

Bound  on  her  mission, 

Over  the  sea; 

Like  a  bird  on  its  pinions. 

So  graceful  and  free. 

Storm-clouds  gather  o'er  all  the  deep, 
The  thunders  roll,  the  lightenings  leap  ; 
Through  the  darksome  night,  above — below. 
The  winds  through  the  rigging  shriek  and  blow 
Past  many  a  cliff,  whose  rounded  dome 
Is  white  with  the  spray  of  the  ocean's  foam, 
She  struggles  on,  while  her  crew  so  brave 
Manfully  battle  with  wind  and  wave. 

The  storm  is  past,  the  night  is  o'er. 
The  morning  sun,  on  sea  and  shore. 

Brightly  gleams 

On  sea  and  shore, 
And  the  brave  ship  faithfully. 
From  wind  and  tempest  free; 
Pursues  her  onward  course 
Over  the  rolling  sea. 
Breasting  the  foaming  waves. 
Her  voyage  will  soon  be  pas:.; 
With  a  faithful  hand  to  steer  and  guide. 
She'll  enter  the  port  at  last. 


Like  a  ship  on  the  restless  sea, 
Is  the  storm  tossed-human  soul; 
Passing  temptations  rocks  and  bars, 


Ship  on   the  Restless  Sea. 

O'er  many  a  hidden  shoal. 

But  there's  One  who  our  bark  will  guide, 

A  Hand  that  will  safely  guide  ; 

At  the  helm  He  stands,  we  need  not  fear, 

He'll  bear  us  o'er  life's  rough  tide. 

Then  what  care  we  though  the  waves  run  high. 

We're  ever  safe  with  our  Pilot  nigh  ; 

Then  let  us  with  joy  pursue  life's  way. 

Till  dawns  for  us  the  Eternal  Day  ; 

And  we've  anchored  safe  in  the  Heavenly  Bav. 


i48 


WHEN    THE    YEAR    IS    OLD. 

In  loving  remembrance  of  Father — Albert  A.  Brooks.  HE  "  PASSED  OVER  THE 
STARS"  INTO  "REST"  December  3ist,  1899:  aged  67  ve?rs.  3  months  and 
6  days.  He  was  an  HONEST  man  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

When  the  year  is  old, 

And  the  days  wax  cold, 

The  searching  North  winds  blow: 

When  earth  is  white- 
All  glistening  bright 

With  Winter's  drifting  snow  : 
Ah  !  then  we  think  of  those  happy  hours. 
When  the  air  was  fragrant  with  scented  flowers: 
When  Lilly-blooms  nodded  in  sunshine  and  rain. 
And  verdant  grew  valley  and  orchard  and  lane. 
The  world,  to  our  vision,  glowed  pleasant  and  fair, 
While  a  wonderful  charm  seemed  to  hover  in  air. 

But  those  were  the  days 

When  the  year  was  young  ; 

And  Winter's  low  dirge 

As  yet  unsung. 

Now  the  passing  clouds  are  dull  and  gray, 

And  ever  the  chilling  breeze 
Is  chanting  a  solemn,  mournful  lay. 
In  the  boughs  of  the  leafless  trees. 

And  over  and  over, 

The  whole  day  long, 

I  hear  the  refrain  of  its  sad,  sad  song. 

' '  The  year  is  o/d, 

And  bleak  and  cold 

Is  his  chill  and  icy  breath  ; 

His  step  is  sloir, 

He  must  soon  lie  low 

In  the  waiting  arms  of  Death  '.  , 


When  the    Year  is  Old.  149 

And  "Echo's"  soft  murmur  steals  over  the  snow, 
"  Yes,  the  year  is  fading 
And  sinking  low." 

But  listen  !  a  sweeter,  more  hopeful  refrain 
Is  wafted  o'er  hilltop  and  snow-mantled  plain  ! 

And  this  is  the  song  that  greets  the  ear, 
Dispelling  the  gloom  of  the  dying  year. 

"  Ho!  After  the  Winter  days  are  o'er, 
There  icill  come  brighter  hours  to  earth  once  more ; 
All  hearts  irill  be  made  to  rejoice  and  sing, 
Ax  they  welcome  again  the  return  of  Spring." 


When  the  heart  grows  old, 

And  life's  tale  is  told, 

The  frost  of  Age  appears  ; 

When  the  hair  is  white, 

And  dimmed  the  sight, 

In  the  passing  of  the  years  ; 

How  the  mind  goes  back  to  those  joyous  hours. 
When  "Youth's"  happy  pathway  was  strewn  with  flowers 
Through  the  mists  of  past  years,  to  life's  glad  vSpring-time, 
When  Hopes  Golden  Bells  rang  their  merriest  chime: 
And  free  as  the  birds  that  were  flitting  in  air. 
Was  the  bosom  of  "Childhood"  from  sorrow  and  care. 

But  those  were  the  days 

When  the  heart  was  young  ; 

And  the  song  of  Age 

Was  as  yet  unsung. 

Down  the  western  sky,  o'er  the  mountains  gray. 

Life's  sun  is  sinking  fast ; 
A  soul  sits  \vaiting,  at  close  of  day, 

Till  twilight  hours  are  passed. 

And  amid  the  shadows 
Deep  and  long. 
The  night  winds  whisper  a  sad,  sad  song. 


150  ll'/icn   the    }'car  is  (lid. 

"A  heart  has  grown  old, 
Life's  Story  in  told  ; 
Weaker  each  fleeting  breath. 
Feeble  and  slow, 
//  must  noon  lie  loic 
In  tlie  /raiting  arms  of  Death." 

And  "/:V//6>"  repeats  the  mournful  lay, 
'*^1  no al  faint  and  v:ennj 
Is  possitig  an'iiff." 

Ever  joyous  and  hopeful,  again,  yet  again. 
From  Heaven  there  comes  a  sweet  tender  refrain  ; 
And  this  is  the  song  that  greets  the  ear. 
Dispelling  the  gloom  of  Death's  dark  fear; 

"0  mortal,  rejoice!  Grim  Death  aamot  hold  thee! 

Omnipotent  Arms  will  ftrerer  enfold  thee  '. 

Though  through  the  Dark  Valley,  Death'*  in'nionn  ma;/  take 

Still  Christ  standetli  near,  He  H'ill  never  forsake  >/ou  ; 

His  Spirit  leads  on,  pant  the  (/aten  of  the  tomb, 

To  n-here  Eden's  sweet,  flowers  eternal///  bloom  ; 

The  soul  iraken  to  new  Life,  on  that  far.  Viewless  Shore, 

Piissiixj  over  the  stars,  into  "Rent"  evermore! 


153 


THE    ANDROSCOGGirsTS    STONE    PROFILE. 

Stern,  expressionless  and  cold, 

In  the  centuries  untold, 
That  lace  upon  its  granite  couch  has  lain  ; 

There  amid  the  spray  and  mist. 

Its  bold  features  ever  kissed 
Alike  by  Winter's  snow  or  Summer  rain. 

Swift  the  seasons  come  and  go, 

Bringing  happiness  or  woe  ; 
Time  holds  for  man  its  mingled  joy  and  blame. 

Generations  pass  away. 

The  world  changes  day  by  day  ; 
Vet,  like  Kgypt's  Sphinx  that  face  remains  the  same. 

Could  those  lips  in  speech  be  heard, 
Ah !  how  charmed  each  uttered  word  ! 

Pouring  fourth  some  thrilling  tale  of  olden  time  ; 
Legends  of  dark  Indian  days, 
The  sturdy  Pioneer's  quaint  ways  ; 

The  struggles  of  a  Nation  in  its  prime! 

They  could  tell  of  these,  aye!  more! 

Of  the  centuries  before 
Man  ever  came  near  river  bank  to  dwell ! 

All  unmoved  upon  its  throne, 

Silence  seals  those  lips  of  stone  ; 
Of  the  Storied  Past  they  can  no  secrets  tell. 

As  it  lies,  with  vacant  stare 

Gazing  on  the  upper  air, 
In  that  rugged,  rough-hewn  profile,  all  ma}-  trace 

God's  marvellous  work  and  skill; 

He  who  fashioned  rock  and  hill 
Kver  speaks  to  mankind  in  that  upturned  face. 


154  The  Androscoggins  Stone  Profile. 

Speaks  of  Immortality, 

Of  a  new  life  yet  to  be  ; 
A  more  perfect  future  far  beyond  earth's  shore. 

Although  man  was  born  to  die. 

Nature,  in  the  earth  and  sky 
Breathes  the  promise  of  a  Life  Forevermore  ! 


155 


THE    PAUPER. 

His  face  is  thin  and  wrinkled  : — life's  closing  day  appears, 
Xo  loving  heart  to  comfort  his  few  remaining  years: 
Aged  now  and  lonely,  he  sits  beside  the  door, 
An  inmate  of  the  poor-house — a  Pauper — nothing  more. 

Although  they  call  him  "  Pauper,"  once  was  the  glad,  good  time. 
When  he  was  loved  and  honored,  in  manhood's  early  prime  ; 
With  mind  of  broadest  culture,  a  warm  and  generous  heart, 
In  life's  affairs,  once  active,  he  bore  a  manly  part. 

Polite,  erect  in  stature,  upon  his  youthful  face 
The  lines  of  honest  virtue,  one  readily  could  trace  ; 
Then,  friends  were  pleased  to  answer  his  every  wish  and  call, 
Were  proud  to  give  him  greeting,  in  street,  in  church,  or  hall. 

A  loving  wife  and  children  made  home-life  sweet  and  fair, 
Until ,  with  noiseless  footsteps,  Death's  Angel  entered  there  : 
And  one  by  one  the  loved  ones  from  earthly  scenes  had  flown, 
Leaving  him  in  sorrow,  dejected  and  alone. 

With  failure  and  disaster  came  loss  of  hard-earned  wealth. 
Discouragement  soon  followed — then — breaking  down  of  health; 
His  friends  no  longer  knew  him,  now  that  his  "all"  was  gone. 
Blighted  were  life's  prospects,  his  heart  crushed  and  forlorn. 

In  silence,  now,  he  passes  life's  dreary  afternoon, 
Waiting  for  the  summons  which  must  come  sure  and  soon  ; 
His  white  hands  calmly  folded,  he  sits  from  day  to  day 
Half  do/ing  in  the  sunshine,  dreaming  the  hours  away. 

With  eyes  toward  the  future — the  past  which  lies  behind 
Is  but  a  saddened  memory  to  that  frail,  senile  mind  ; 
He  heeds  not  how  time  passes — he  now  can  do  no  more 
Than  simply  wait  in  patience,  till  the  days  of  life  are  o'er. 

Perhaps,  in  tender  memory,  his  thoughts  go  back  again 
To  happy  days  of  Childhood,  when,  free  from  care  and  pain 


156  The  Pauper. 

He  felt  the  hand  of  mother  rest  lightly  on  his  head, 
In  fancy,  still,  he  sees  her  kneeling  by  his  trundle  bed. 

Oh  !  the  hopes,  the  aspirations,  that  filled  that  mother's  breast  ! 

As  to  her  loving  bosom,  the  childish  form  she  pressed  ; 

Little  dreaming  then,  the  wee  babe  beside  her  knee, 

Would,  through  sad,  dire  misfortune,  sometime  a  "  Pauper"  be  ! 

Ah  !  'tis  the  same  old  story,  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
We  know  not  what  the  future  may  hold  for  us  in  store  ; 
The  kindly  heart  of  friendship,  that  today  we  lean  upon, 
May  prove  untrue  tomorrow,  its  love  from  us  withdrawn. 

In  the  struggle  for  existence,  the  fortune  of  today 
May  on  the  coming  morrow  be  quickly  swept  away  ; 
The  child,  born  in  a  palace,  reared  in  luxurious  ways, 
In  poverty  and  sorrow  may  pass  life's  closing  days. 

There's  a  sting  in  that  word   "  Pauper,"   'tis  a  harsh  and  cruel  name  ! 
Though  a  man  is  poor  and  friendless,  he  may  not  be  to  blame  ; 
In  years  gone  by,  some  mother  has  kissed  that  furrowed  brow  ; 
That  form,  though  bent  and  weary,  still  bears  God's  image  now  ! 

Though  poor,  he  still  is  human,  he  has  a  soul  to  save  ; 
There's  a  place  for  him  in  Heaven,  a  rest  beyond  the  grave; 
His  loved  ones,  o'er  the  river,  he  hopes  once  more  to  greet, 
To  him,  as  unto  others,  God  sends  His  promise  sweet. 

Then  call  him  not  a  Pauper!  'tis  a  harsh,  a  cruel  name  ! 
Poor  and  old  and  friendless,  yet,  him  we  must  not  blame  ! 
Sometime,  beyond  earth's  shadows,  that  soul  will  take  its  flight, 
It  may  pass  away  at  noon-day,  or  in  stillness  of  the  night. 

It  is  all  the  same  to  him,  as  he  sits  from  day  to  day, 

Half  dozing  in  the  sunshine,  dreaming  the  hours  away  ; 

His  old  heart  longs  for  rest,  for  the  time  to  hasten  nigh, 

When  he  will  leave  earth's  dwelling  for  a  home  beyond  the  sky. 

Aged  now  and  lonely,  on  a  bench  beside  the  door 

Sits  an  inmate  of  the  poor-house — a  Pauper — nothing  more  ; 

Yet,  sometime  God's  Bright  Angel,  in  that   "  Land  beyond  the  blue," 

Will   open  the  "Gates  of  Heaven ,"  while  a  "Pauper"  passes  through  .' 


159 


UNDER    THE    CHASE    ELMS. 

NOTK  : — |ust  below  Lnurel  Hill  Cemeierv,  on  the  road  to  Saco  Ferrv,  and  overlook 
ing  the  river,  stand  several  great  elms.  They  are  known  as  the  "CiiASE 
ELMS"  and  are  among  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  trees  in  York  Countv. 
Transplanted  from  the  Ferrv  to  their  present  location,  over  135  years  ago 
by  Deacon  Amos  Chase,  they  are  looked  upon  with  veneration  by  the 
citizens  of  Saco,  as  old  landmarks — silent,  yet  eloquent  reminders  of  the 
soul-stirring  and  thrilling  incidents  of  the  historic  past. 

Away  from  the  noise  of  the  bustling  city, 
Where  verdure-clad  lowlands  are  kissed  by  the  tide: 
Where  the  Ferry  Road  curves  in  a  graceful  half-crescent, 
The  old  Elms  stand  in  their  grandeur  and  pride. 

Of  wonderous  circumference,  huge  giants  in  stature, 
Spreading  far  into  space  their  magnificent  arms; 
With  towering  tops  over-looking  the  landscape, 
Of  green  fields  and  meadows,  of  forests  and  farms. 

Half  concealed  by  the  hill-tops,  the  deep  quiet  river 
Slowly  seaward  in  beauty  and  majesty  goes; 
Where  the  vales  intervene,  now  and  then  I  catch  glimpses 
Of  its  silvery  brightness  as  onward  it  flows. 

Toward  the  west,  where  the  sun  through  the  day's  closing  hours. 

Diffuses  its  gold  e're  it  fades  from  our  view; 

I  behold  in  the  distant  the  tall  city  spires 

In  perfect  outline  'gainst  a  background  of  blue 

Like  a  crown  on  the  brow  of  the  fair  verdant  uplands, 
Rise  the  tall  noble  forests  of  sweet-scented  Pine; 
While  from  tree-tops  about  me,  the  feathery  songsters 
Are  praising  their  Maker  in  music  divine. 

Thus  beneath  these  great  Elms,  looking  out  o'er  the  landscape, 
From  far-away  hills  to  near  meadow  and  fen; 
All  nature  is  wearing  the  jewels  of  summer, 
Suggestive  of  God  and  his  goodness  to  men. 


i6o 


THE    LITTLE    HUNCHBACK. 

A  tribute  to  little  John  Dolby,  passed  away   at   Saco,  Me.,  February  ^o,  1900.  ) 

Though  a  frail  little  being,  all  felt  keen  delight. 

In  extending  him  greeting,  as  night  alter  night 

On  the  street,  with  papers  close  under  his  arm. 

He  moved  through  the  crowds,  all  unmindful  of  harm. 

Often  great  brawny  men,  with  face  sturdTand  grim, 

Would  cross  o'er  the  street  just  to  purchase  of  him; 

And  their  hearts  grew  more  tender,  their  eyes  filled  with  tears, 

As  a  soft  uttered  "  Thank  you,  sir.  "  greeted  their  ears. 

Brave,  honest,  reliant,  truth  shone  in  his  eye, 

As  he  cried,  "  Evening  Papers,  "  to  each  passer-by  ; 

Respected  and  loved  by  young  and  the  old, 

Each  night,  e're  he  slept,  all  his  papers  were  sold. 

Though  in  stature  deformed,  still  t'was  easy  to  trace 

The  lines  of  true  courage  on  his  bright,  manly  face  ; 

A  weakling,  amid  the  world's  sorrow  and  strife, 

He  acted  his  part  in  the  "Battle  of  Life." 

Oft  times  he  would  go,  in  the  long  summer  day, 
To  the  Beach,  where  society's  sceptre  held  sway  ; 
And  from  earliest  dawn,  through  the  afternoon  hours — 
His  basket  o'er-flowing  with  sweet-scented  flowers — 
Happy-hearted,  amid  the  gay  throng,  he  would  roam, 
Karning  pennies,  to  help  his  dear  mother  at  home; 
What  an  unselfish  life !      A  sight  grand  to  behold  ! 
A  good  name  he  was  winning,  more  precious  than  gold. 

But  the  time  must  soon  come,  when  seashore  and  street 

Would  no  longer  be  kissed  by  the  poor  tired  feet ; 

When  people  would  watch  for  the  loved  face  in  vain, 

Or  list  for  the  voice  they  would  ne'er  hear  again. 

The  same  cheerful  smile,  through  the  slow  passing  day 

Played  'round  the  thin  lips,  as  on  sick  bed  lie  lay; 

Hope  illumined  his  features,  wan,  pallid  and  white. 

While  those  blue  eyes  still  glowed  with  a  warm,  pleasant  light. 


The  Little  Hunchback.  161 

In  calm  resignation,  submissive  and  meek, 
No  murmured  complaint,  through  the  long  dreary  week 
Escaped  the  frail  form,  although  weary  and  worn, 
With  true  patience  divine,  was  his  sufferings  borne. 
All  eyes  looked  in  pity  on  the  small  wasting  frame, 
While  hearts  became  milder  at  sound  of  his  name  ; 
All  were  conscious,  that  here  in  this  dark  \vorld  of  greed, 
He  had  done  what  he  could  to  help  others  in  need. 

The  pale  lips  are  sealed,  the  sweet  spirit  has  flown, 
To  that  beautiful  Homeland,  where  death  is  unknown  ; 
Resting  peacefully,  now,  in  the  arms  of  God's  care. 
To  mansions  Eternal,  a  Hright  Crown  an  heir. 
Gaining  riches  above — he  has  left  riches  behind, 
A  character  spotless,  piire,  noble  and  kind ; 
And  unto  him,  now,  perfect  being  is  given, 
He  in  full  stature  dwells  in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 


162 


THE    CHAPEL    IN    THE    VALE. 

NOTE  : — The  original  of  "The  Chapel  in  the  Vale."  is  the  prettv  little  Gothic 
church  near  the  track  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  at  West  Bethel, 
Maine. 

[To  my  dear  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elbridge  Wheeler,  West  Eethel.  Maine.] 

Earth  seems  so  fair  'neath  sunlit  August  skies, 
The  blue-bird's  song  is  heard  in  forest  glade, 
While  on  the  hills,  in  calm  contentment  lies 
The  cattle  'neath  the  Beach  trees  cooling  shade. 

The  wayside  flowers  lift  their  plumey  tops, 
A  golden  cup,  each  holds  in  mute  delight; 
Filled  to  the  brim  with  sparkling  jeweled,  drops, 
From  warm  and  friendly  dews  of  yesternight. 

Slow,  drowsily  the  gentle  South  wind  blows, 
'Neath  its  caress  the  green  leaves  idly  sway; 
Drawing  sweet  nectar  from  the  wild,  red  rose, 
The  busy  bee  pursues  its  droning  way. 

The  sunlight  falls  aslant  the  river's  breast, 
Above  its  banks  the  towering  hills  rise  high; 
Vignetted  is  each  tall,  gray  mountain  crest, 
In  rounded  outline  'gainst  the  azure  sky. 

The  warm,  light  breeze  disturbs  the  tasseled  corn, 
That  growing  makes  the  valley  yet  more  fair ; 
Peace  hovers  o'er  the  land — tis  Sabbath  morn, 
A  holy  languor  fills  the  scented  air. 

The  little  hamlet  nestles  'mong  the  hills — 
Within  each  home,  true,  sincere  love  abides  ; 
A  reverent  hush,  the  sacred  hour  fills, 
Save  sound  of  sheep-bells  from  the  mountain  sides. 

O'er  shadowed  by  the  steep,  bold  granite  cliffs; 
On  Village  Green  the  house  of  worship  stands ; 


The  Chapel  in   the    J'a/e.  163 

Its  pointed  Gothic  spire  upward  lifts — 
A  scene  for  Poet' 's  pen  or  Artist's  hand! 

In  measured  accents,  o'er  the  mountains  float 
The  dulcet  music  of  the  Chapel  bell  ; 
God's  voice  seems  speaking  in  each  deep  toned  note, 
That  echoes  over  hilltop,  field  and  dell. 

The  call  to  worship,  far  and  near  is  heard, 
The  people  haste  its  summons  to  obey; 
With  solemn  mien,  to  hear  God's  preached  word, 
Along-  the  road  they  take  their  churchward  way. 

And  willingly,  they  bow  the  listening  ear, 

With  joy  receive  the  simple  Gospel  tale  ; 

The  "  vStraight  and  Xarro\v  Way,  "  in  Godly  fear 

They  walk  by  faith,  though  oft  grave  doubts  assail. 

Within  those  sacred  walls,  the  atmosphere 
Seems  heavy  with  sweet  incense  from  on  high  ; 
A  holy  place,  to  Christian  hearts  most  dear  ; 
Rejoicing  in  the  thought  that  God  is  nigh. 

The  varied  hues  from  stained  glass  windows  glow. 
In  beauty,  blending  with  the  suns  bright  rays  ; 
Till  floods  of  glory  shine  on  all  below, 
As  worshipers  engage  in  prayer  and  praise. 

The  organist,  a  simple  prelude  plays, 
Followed  by  pastor  in  short  earnest  prayer; 
While  through  the  open  window  softly  strays 
The  perfumed  breeze  from  woods  and  meadows  fair. 

How7  fervent  is  the  preacher's  uttered  word: 
His  heartfelt  message  tells  a  Savior's  love: 
Each  soul  before  him,  to  its  depths  is  stirred, 
He  leads  their  thoughts  to  holy  things  above. 

The  sermon  ended,  all  with  hearty  will 
Unite  with  choir  in  the  closing  hymn; 
Whose  cadence  sweet,  o'er  yonder  distant  hill 
Is  wafted  on  in  faint,  low  echoes  dim. 


The  Chapel  in   the    \rale. 

One  moment,  near  the  door,  the  people  pause 
In  little  groupes  to  grasp  the  friendly  hand; 
Or  speak  together  of  God's  blessed  cause, 
How  He  in  love  a  great  salvation  planned. 

Among  them,  I  behold  a  saintly  face, 
Celestial  light  seems  resting  on  his  brow; 
A  faithful  Steivard  in  God's  Holy  Place, 
And  mindful  he  of  every  sacred  vozv. 

Year  after  year,  in  his  accustomed  pew, 

Each  Sabbath  morn  has  found  him  sitting  there; 

While  close  beside  him,  is  one  ever  true — 

His  sweet  faced  wife,  with  crown  of  snow-white  hair. 

Together  they  have  walked  life's  chosen  way, 

From  youth  to  age  to  love's  strong  arm  they've  clung  ; 

Life's  sunset  passing — nearing  twilight  gray, 

Eyes  dimmed  with  age — but  still  their  hearts  are  young . 

Beloved  are  they  by  all  who  know  true  worth. 
Their  lives  have  been  unselfish,  sweet  and  grand  ; 
May  they,  when  called  away  from  scenes  of  earth, 
Find  just  reward  in  that  Bright  Glory  Land. 

God  bless  the  little  Chapel  in  the  Vale! 
In  past'ral  beauty,  may  it  long  abide! 
Its  influence  for  good  can  never  fail, 
Tis  known  beyond  the  hamlet  far  and  wide' 

Its  Gothic  spire  the  Gospel  story  tells, 
The  grandest  tale  on  Scriptures  Holy  page; 
And  echoed  oft  in  joyous  Easter  Bells, 
It  stands  supreme  through  every  passing  age. 


SUMMER    AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

(  At  Bethel   Maine.) 

O  Summer  months !  so  full  of  gladsome  cheer^! 
Scattering  thy  sweets  o'er  this  broad  land  of  ours; 
The  dearest  months  in  all  the  changing  year, 
Brightening  earth  with  lovely  blossoming  flowers. 
Xeath  smiling  skies,  the  fields  are  green  and  fair. 

Above,  below, 
There  is  beauty  everywhere! 

Laden  with  balm,  light  blows  the  morning  breeze; 
The  corntops  sway  beneath  its  gentle  power; 
Its  breath  is  cool,  among  the  orchard  trees, 
Its  soft  caress  woos  tender  bud  and  flower. 
While  all  around,  the  scented  apple-blooms, 

Wind-swayed,  send  forth 
A  thousand  sweet  perfumes, 

P^astward,  the  warm  sun,  rising  bright  and  clear 
Bathes  the  landscape  in  a  flood  of  gold; 
All  glory-crowned,  the  mountains  far  and  near 
Lift  towering  peaks,  in  rugged  outline  bold. 
And  shafts  of  light  pierce  dreary  solitude, 

Dispelling  gloom 
Of  mossy  fen  and  wood. 

High  overhead,  the  Skylark  and  the  Thrush 
Pour  forth  their  notes  in  glad  melodious  lays; 
And  bird-life  everywhere  on  bough  and  bush, 
Are  ever  rendering  their  Creator's  praise. 
Happy  little  winged  musicians  they  ; 

Skyward  flitting. 
Singing  all  the  day. 

Sun,  moon  and  stars,  the  glories  of  the  sky. 
The  Summer  blooms,  that  perfume  all  the  air; 
The  mountains,  their  grand  summits  rearing  high, 


166  Summer  Among  the  Hills. 

The  birds,  whose  song  helps  lighten  day's  dull  care 
The  Season's  dearest  gifts,  without  alloy, 

God  created  all 
For  mankind  to  enjoy! 

Ah!  Could  we  happy  be,  through  the  long  days 
Of  all  the  changing  seasons  of  the  year; 
Our  souls  be  always  filled  with  love  and  praise, 
Each  heart-beat  set  to  music  of  "Good  Cheer f 
HOWT  sweet  for  us  would  be  life's  golden  chime. 

If  in  our  hearts, 
T'were  Summer  all  the  time! 


67 


THE  ARTIST-SEASON. 

Gray  Autumn  time  at  last  is  here, 
The  Artist-Season  of  the  year! 

With  perfect  taste,  unerring  hand, 
He  paints  in  rarest  tints  the  land. 

A  master,  true,  with  light  atid  shade, 
Displaying  skill  in  field  and  glade. 

His  touch,  transforming  emerald  green 
Of  wooded  dell  to  golden  sheen. 

The  far-off  hillside,  sloping  down, 
He  touches,  lo!  tis  scar  and  brown! 

The  leaves,  he  changes  in  a  night, 
To  hues  of  red  and  amber  bright. 

When  field  and  wood  his  touch  has  known, 
All  trace  of  summer  days  have  flown. 

No  greenery,  now,  the  eye  beholds, 
The  great  world  Autumn's  arm  enfolds. 

And  his  weird  fancy  often  weaves 
Strange  pictures  'mong  the  tinted  leaves. 

Yet  fair  is  all  the  land,  to  view; 
Dressed  in  the  sunsets  golden  hue. 

While  everywhere,  true  harmony, 
Of  blending  color  greets  the  eye. 

As  in  summer  days,  the  woodland  stream 
Flowed  undisturbed,  'neath  sun's  bright  gleam. 

So  the  limpid  waters  ripple  still 
Through  field  and  fen  by  mounded  hill. 


1 68  The  Artist-Season. 

Hastening  towards  the  river  grand, 

Its  breast  unchanged  by  Autumn's  hand. 

For  Autumn's  hand,  though  skilled  and  bold, 
Can  only  change  earth's  green  to  gold! 

And  He,  who  lights  the  "Stars  of  Even'" 
Has  no  other  power  to  Autumn  given. 

The  laughing  streams  will  run  their  race, 
Till  locked  in  Winter's  cold  embrace! 

Twas  thus,  when  Universe  was  made, 
Nature's  decrees  were  planned  and  laid. 

The  world  moves  on,  in  calm  or  storm, 
Each  season  must  its  part  perform. 

As  in  the  Past,  so  evermore 

There's  work  for  each  laid  up  in  store. 

As  of  seasons,  so,  of  man  tis  true; 
All  have  a  work  on  earth  to  do. 

T'is  part  of  Wisdom's  marvelous  plan; 
First  formed  when  God  created  man. 

Then  be  our  station  high,  or  low, 
Come  good  or  ill,  come  joy  or  woe; 

Placed  here,  amid  earth's  grief  and  strife, 
We  all  may  share  the  toils  of  life. 

Meet  daily  tasks  with  cheerful  heart , 
And  nobly  act  Life's  honored  part! 


169 


LESSONS   FROM   A   LIFE. 

[In  tender  memorv  of  Rev.  T.  Arthur  Frev.  late  pastor  of  the  Second 
Congregational  Church.  Kiddeford.  Maine.  Passed  a\vav  at  I'niversity  Park. 
Denver.  Colorado.  January  S,  1900.] 

Within  memory's  precious  casket, 
Those  loved  features  we  enshrine  ; 
Thoughts  of  him,  but  draw  us  nearer 
To  the  "  LigM  of  Truth  "  divine. 
Called  hence  from  life's  field  of  action 
In  the  flush  of  manhood's  prime  ; 

Silent yet  he  ever  speaketh 

With  persuasive  power  sublime. 

Called  of  Go:!— a  faithful  steward, 
Karnest,  sincere,  true  and  kind  ; 
Xoble  type  of  Christian  manhood, 
High  ideals  filled  heart  and  mind. 
Standing  'niong  his  fellow  mortals, 
As  a  bright  and  shining  light  : 
Never  compromising  evil, 
Champion  always  for  the  right. 

Loving  all  things  pure  and  holy, 
Witness  to  the  "Living  Truth;" 
Both  by  precept  and  example 
Moulding  heart  and  mind  of  youth. 
His  great  soul  went  out  in  pity 
T'ward  those  'neath  oppression's  ban  ; 
Aiding  every  high  endeavor 
For  the  betterment  of  man. 

Faith  illumined  all  his  teachings, 
Prayerfully  each  line  was  wrought : 
Earnestness  marked  every  sentence, 
Beau'.y  clothed  each  varied  thought. 
Purest  gems  of  truth  and  wisdom 
From  his  lips  like  pearls  would  roll  ; 


170 


Lessons  From  A  Life. 

To  his  hearers,  oft  revealing 
The  true  grandeur  of  his  soul. 

Themes  of  loftiest  conception, 
All  the  deep  emotions  stirred  ; 
Speaking  for  his  blessed  Master, 
Heart  and  soul  was  in  each  word. 
Tenderly,  his  Christ  he  pictures, 
By  the  waves  of  Galilee ; 
Or  with  vividness  portrays  Him 
On  the  Cross  of  Calvarv. 


REV.     T.     ARTHUR     I  RKY. 


Or  in  glorious  triumph  rising 
From  the  grave  'neath  Kaster  skies 
Now  amid  the  clouds  ascending 
To  His  throne  in  Paradise. 
Thus,  he  taught  a   "  Risen  Saviour, 
Of  His  love  so  full  and  free  ; 
Breathing  hope  of  future  glory. 
Preaching  "  Immortality." 


Lessons  from   A    Life. 

Bearing  in  this  \vorld  of  sorrow. 
The  true  Christians  honored  part ; 
Face  beamed  as  with  light  from  heaven, 
Joy  and  peace  glowed  in  his  heart. 
Gaining  strength  and  help  and  wisdom 
From  the  "Fountain-head"  above; 
Firm  his  faith  and  grounded  ever 
In  a  gospel  born  of  love. 

A  student  of  the  Book  of  Nature, 
Learning  from  its  pages  fair. 
E'en  the  humblest  wayside  iflower 
Held  for  him  some  beaut}'  rare. 
And  the  grand  old  towering  forest, 
Wherein  oft  his  footsteps  trod  ; 
Was  to  him  a  sacred  temple 
Consecrated  to  his  God. 

Breezes  murmuring  through  the  tall  pines, 

Sweetly  sighing,  low  and  dim  ; 

Was  to  him  celestial  music, 

Breathings  of  a  far-off  hymn. 

And  to  him  the  starry  heavens. 

Was  a  book,  whose  every  page 

Teemed  with  grand  and  wondrous  mystery, 

With  wisdom  of  age  on  age. 

How  he  loved  the  summer  landscape! 
The  sweet  minstrels  of  the  air  ! 
In  the  woods,  the  fields,  the  flowers, 
He  found  beauty  everywhere  I 
And  the  glory  of  the  sunset 
That  preceeds  the  twilight  gray  ; 
Was  to  him,  the  joyous  promise 
Of  a  new  and  brighter  day  ! 


Now — beyond  those  gates  of  sunset, 

To  a  bright  and  better  land  ; 

His  great  soul  has  winged  its  passage. 

Guided  by  the  Feather's  hand. 

Far  away,  beyond  earth's  tumult. 

To  that  distant,  unseen  shore  ; 


Lcsso?is  From   .1   Life. 

''  Crowed  the  Bar"  to  meet  his  "• Pi 'lot" 
Entered  sweet  rent  evermore. 

Gone — but  ah,  forgotten — never  '• 

Until  life  shall  cease  to  be  ; 

To  those  hearts,  that  knew  and  loved  him, 

Precious  is  his  memory. 

And  the  light  of  his  example 

Sheds  its  rays  about  our  feet ; 

While  his  influence  still  tiityers, 

Blessing  earth  like  incense  sweet. 


173 


THE    WORLD'S    READY    HELPERS. 

What  jrood  do  you  do  bright  sun  as  you  pass 

Along  your  \vay  through  the  a/.ure  blue? 
'Tis  said,  that  you  cheer  the  whole  world  with  your  beams 

Pray  tell  me,  O  "  King  of  the  day,"  is  it  true  ? 
"  Yes  'tis  true,  as  I  move  from  east  to  west. 

My  rays  cheer  homes  that  are  gloomy  and  sad  ; 
I  cause  flowers  to  bloom,  as  the  days  roll  by, 

I  make  the  heart  of  the  great  world  glad." 

Silvery  moon,  as  the  "Banner  of  Xight," 

Over  the  sleeping  earth  is  unfurled, 
As  you  roll  along  'mid  the  numberless  stars, 

Do  you  help  to  cheer  and  brighten  the  world? 
"  Yes.  I  guide  the  mariner's  ship  at  night, 

As  onward  it  sails  o'er  the  ocean's  foam; 
And  many  a  traveler,  weary  and  worn. 

My  light  has  guided  with  safety  home." 

Sweet  bird,  from  the  depth  of  thy  forest  home, 

Does  part  of  this  work  belong  to  thee  ? 
"  Yes,  our  song  cheers  the  hearts  of  both  rich  and  poor. 

We  flood  all  the  earth  with  our  melody." 
"  Yes,  and  I  too,"  said  a  tender  flower. 

"  By  my  sweet  fragrance,  beauty  and  bloom. 
Bring  cheer  to  the  heart  of  some  dying  soul. 

As  it  passes  from  earth  to  the  tomb." 

Brother  and  friend,  as  life's  journey  we  tread, 

Do  we  help  those  who  are  weak  and  sad? 
Do  we  gather  thorns  or  pluck  sweetest  flowers? 

Are  we  striving  each  day  to  make  some  heart  glad  ? 
It  lies  in  the  power  of  everyone 

To  make  life  sweeter,  more  noble  and  true. 
In  the  work  of  making  the  world  bright  and  happy. 

The  humblest  heart  mav  find  something  to  do. 


174 


THE    BELL    OF    LEXINGTON. 

In  the  quaint  belfry  tower  still  hangs  the  old  bell, 
The  same  as  of  yore,  on  that  clear  April  morning 
When  afar  over  Middlesex's  valleys  and  hills 
Its  brazen  tones  rang  out  their  terrible  warning. 

Spreading  War's  wild  alarms, 

Over  Lexington's  farms; 

At  the  sound,  every  patriot  son  sprang  to  arms ! 
They  quickly  assembled  by  roadside  and  plain. 
Freedom's  cause  to  defend  and  their  rights  to  maintain. 

Paul  Revere,  that  American  noble  and  brave, 
Whose  name  is  e're  linked  with  fair  Liberty's  story  ; 
From  Charlestown  had  come  on  that  famous  night  ride, 
That  will  ever  crown  him  and  his  charger  with  glory. 

With  a  voice  loud  and  clear, 

On  the  chill  midnight  air 

He  shouted,  " Aivake  men  !    The  Regulars  are  near !  " 
And  the  bell  clanging  forth,  pealing  out  the  refrain. 
The  message  re-echoed  again  and  again. 

From  the  farm  windows,  brightly  the  candle  lights  gleamed, 
Rich  and  poor,  old  and  young,  heard  with  great  consternation 
The  alarm  of  the  messenger  galloping  by, 
While  the  village  was  stirred  to  its  very  foundation. 

Still  that  brave  little  band 

Were  determined  to  stand 
And  if  need  be  to  perish  for  liberty  grand. 
They  would  sacrifice  all  that  was  dearest  in  life, 
Yielding  not  to  the  foenien,  though  bitter  the  strife, 

The  Red-Coats  advancing,  some  eight  hundred  strong, 
With  Major  Pitcairn  at  the  head  of  the  legion ; 
Had  marched  all  the  way  from  Boston,  to  cope 
With  a  handful  of  farmers  from  Middlesex  region  ! 

When  the  battle-cloud  broke. 

With  its  thunder  and  smoke. 


The  Bell  of  Lexington. 

The  Minute-men  stood  with  a  heart  as  of  oak. 

Till  outnumbered,  were  forced  to  retreat  from  the  place, 

Leaving  eight  of  their  comrades  in  death's  cold  embrace. 

For  a  "Principal"  righteous  and  noble,  they  stood. 
Grim  earnestness  marked  every  movement  and  action  ; 
United  were  they  in  one  just,  common  cause, 
They  knew  not  the  bold  lines  of  party  or  faction. 
But  primed  was  the  gun 


*75 


OLI)     BELFRY     AT     LEXINGTON. 


Of  each  father  and  son  ; 

Though  they  knew  from  the  first  victory  ne'er  could  be  won 
And  History's  pages  the  story  will  tell 
Of  the  heroes  that  morn  who  for  Liberty  fell ! 

Though  defeated  and  wounded,  each  heart  beat  with  hope, 
They  would  yet  win  in  battle,  though  greatly  outnumbered 
Independence  to  them  was  not  merely  a  dream, 
In  their  bosom  the  Spirit  of  Freedom  ne'er  si  umbered  I 

Amid  War's  clash  and  din, 

The  Britons  might  win ; 


176  The  Bell  of  Lexington. 

But  they  never  could  conquer  the  "feeling  "  within  .' 
Upon  Lexington  Green  was  re-kindled  anew 
The  fires  of  Freedom  and  Liberty  true  ! 

On  that  historic  Common,  where  Patriots  fell, 
Stands  the  Altar,  to  which  our  hearts  turn  with  devotion  ; 
From  the  north  to  the  south-land  its  lair  fame  is  known, 
It  is  wafted  o'er  mountains,  from  ocean  to  ocean  ! 

And  Americans  know, 

On  that  soil  long  ago 

Where  a  handful  of  men  faced  an  unequal  foe, 
The  blood  of  those  heroes,  on  that  cool  April  morn, 
Marked  the  spot  where  our  glorious  Xation  was  born  ! 

When  the  musketry  rattled  on  Lexington  Green, 
And  by  old  Concord  Bridge,  //  made  tvranv  tremble 
Our  montains  and  hills  the  grand  echoes  awoke, 
From  everywhere,  heroes  began  to  assemble. 

And  old  Lexington's  bell 

Rang  the  tyrants  death  knell ; 
On  American  soil,  soon  doomed  Monarchy  fell ! 
And  never  again  will  its  strong  chains  enslave 
The  Youth  of  our  Country,  the  hearts  of  the  brave  ! 

O  Lexington  !  proud  must  thou  be  to  enfold 

A  great  Nation's  birthplace  within  thy  green  border! 

Guard  well  the  fair  spot,  to  our  race  ever  dear, 

Over  each  sacred  shrine,  stand  a  faithful,  true  warder  ! 

And  from  homes  henceforth  free, 

Hearts  will  turn  unto  thee  ; 

With  a  sincere  devotion,  where-e're  they  may  be! 
And  thy  praise,  far  and  near,  will  for  ages  resound, 
\Vhcrc-i"i'cr  the  child  of  a  I^reeman  is  found ! 

In  its  quaint,  aged  tower,  hangs  Lexington's  bell  ! 
Though  its  tones  mingle  not  with  the  cannons  loud  rattle  ; 
For  the  white  wings  of  Peace  hovers  over  our  homes, 
Nevermore  rings  the  summons,  "  To  .Inns"  or   "  To  /yaffle 

We  have  Liberty  grand  ! 

Vet,  at  word  of  command 
./  million  would  rise  in  defence  of  our  land'. 
They  would  show  the  invader,  who  dares  touch  our  shore. 
That  the  Spirit  of  '75  /ires  evermore! 


FEB     3  1986 


A     000  565  445     4 


